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SCRAP  °^  PAPER; 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  Lb         IfTER. 


%  $omtt  J9tama, 

2  77  V  tf 


IN     THREE     ACTS. 

BY    J.     PALGRAVE     SIMPSON. 

Author  of  "  Time  and  the  Hour,"  etc.,  etc. 


IS   FIRST   PERFORMED   AT   THE   ST.   JAMES'   THEATRE,   LONDON, 

APRIL  22.  1861. 


TO  WHICH  ARE  ADDED 

I    INSCRIPTION   OF   THE   COSTUMES— CAST   OF  THE  CHAKACTERS — E» 

TRANCES  AND   EXITS — RELATIVE  POSITIONS  OF  THE 

PERFORMERS   ON  THE  STAGE,  AND  THE  WHOLE 

OF   THE   STAGE   BUSINESS. 


CHICAGO: 
THE   DRAMATIC   PUBLISHING   COMPANY. 


A    SCRAP    OF    PAPER. 


CAST  OF  CHARACTERS. 

si.  James's  Theatre, 
London,  April  -a,  1861. 

Prosper  <  'ouramonl  Mr.  A.  Wtgan. 

Baron  de  la  Glaciere Mr.  Emeky. 

Brisemouche  (Landed  Proprietor  and  Naturalist) Mr.  G.  Belmore. 

Anatole  (his  Ward) Mr.  Ashley. 

Baptiste  [Servant  > Mr.  Terry'. 

Francois  (Servant  of  Prosper.1 Mr.  Lever. 

Louise  de  la  (ilaciere Miss  Herbert. 

Mad  lie.  Suzanne  de  Ruseville  (her  Cousin) Mrs.  A.  Wig  an 

Mathilde  (Sister  to  Louise) Miss  N.  MiiiiRE 

Mademoiselle  Zenobie  Sister  to  Brisemouche) Miss  Rainfortij. 

Madame  Dupont  (Housekeeper) Mrs.  Manders. 

Pauline  (Maid) Miss  Oesten. 


TIME  IN  REPRESENTATION -ONE  HOUR  AND  THIRTY   MINUTES. 


si'KXKRY. 


ACT  I.,  Scene. — Drawing  Room  in  a  French  Country  House.  Windows  to  the 
ground,  in  back,  looking  out  on  gardens  and  park  ;  between  the  windows  a  fire- 
place surmounted  by  a  looking-glass;  on  either  side  of  the  glass  a  bracket,  within 
reach  of  the  hand,  the  one  n..  supporting  a  statuette  of  "Flora."  the  other  L., 
empty  ;  door,  r.  2  b.  ;  door.  L.  2  E.  ;  old-fashioned  furniture,  rich,  but  a  little 
worn  ;  sofa  on  either  side  ;  in  centre,  a  round  table,  with  a  lamp,  an  embroidery 
frame,  a  book,  and  other  objects,  scattered  upon  it  in  disorder  ;  chairs  ;  the 
window,  r.,  is  open  upon  the  garden  ;  the  window,  Li,  is  at  first  closed  in  with 
barred  Venetian  shutters. 

ACT  II.,  Scene. — Room  assigned  to  Prosper  in  the  house  of  Brisemotche. 
c .  door  in  flat  ;  R.  3  e.,  a  window  ;  a  bedchamber  door,  r  2  E.,  rendered  almost 
invisible  by  being  covered  with  the  same  paper  as  the  rest  of  the  room,  and 
adorned  by  a  large  picture  ;  n.  1  e  ,  a  fireplace  and  wood  fire  ;  l.  3  e.,  an  Egyptian 
mummy  case  and  other  curiosities  ;  l,  2  e.,  a  high  glazed  case,  full  of  natural 
cariosities;  l.  i  e,  a  door;  on  all  sides,  maps,  exotic  plants,  stuffed  animals, 
Eastern  weapons  and  ornaments,  pipes,  porcelain  vases,  traveller's  tent,  etc.,  etc. ; 
Indian  grass  mats,  and  skins  of  wild  beasts  on  the  floor ;  r.  c,  a  large  table  with 
casket,  books,  an  album,  an  inkstand,  a  great  tobacco  jar,  letters,  visting  cards 
etc.  ;  another  table,  covered  with  curiosities,  l.  c,  ;  arm-chairs,  rocking-chairs, 
stools,  etc 

ACT  III,  Scene— A  Conservatory  attached  to  the  Chateau,  l  c,  several 
spreading  exotic  plants,  advancing  in  a  clump  on  the  stage  ;  l.  2  e..  door  lead'ng 
lo  interior  ;  same  side,  table  and  easy  chairs  ;  behind,  the  glazed  portior.  J.  „ne 
onservatory,  lined  with  climbing  plants  ;  c,  the  entrance  door  upon  the  park; 
i;.,  tuba  of  plants,  with  a  bench,  etc  ;  n.  2  e.,  the  dining-room  door  ;  the  scene  ia 
lighted  A-ith  standing  lamps  and  hangjnt  Clunepe  lanterns 


%<\  5 

A    SCRAP   OF    PAPER.  O    /-\  3 

COSTUMES. 

"Prosper  Couramont  -First  Dress:  White  summer  suit,  white  trousers.    Second 

Dress  :  A  modern  gentleman's  suit 
Baron  de  la  Glaciere  —  First  Dress:  A  French  cap.  Knickerbocker  breeches, 

gaiters,  anil  a  shooting  coat.    Second  Dress  ;  An  evening  dinner  dress. 
Anatole  —Straw  hat,  light  trousers,  and  a  velvet  coat. 
Baptiste  —French  servant's  livery. 
J  Francois.— Groom's  livery  coat,  white  breeches,  and  top  boots. 
Louise  de  la  Glaciere.— First  Dress:  An  elegant  morning  dress.    Second  Dress; 

An  evening  dress. 
Madlle    Suzanne  de  Ruseville.— First  Dress:  Silk  morning  dress,  scarf,  aud 

bonnet.    Second  Dress  ;  Handsome  evening  dress. 
Mathilde.—  First  Dress:  Riding  habit.    Second  Dress:  White  muslin  evening 

dress. 
Mademoiselle  Zenobie.— First  Dress:    Modern  Spanish  hat  and  feather,  dress 

looped  up  over  petticoat,  and  Balmoral  boots     Second  Dress  ;   White  muslin 

and  mauve  sash. 
Madame  Dupont  —French  cap,  French  country  costume. 
Pauline.— Servant's  dress 


PROPERTIES. 


Statuette  of  Flora— hollow  :  lamp  ;  embroidery  frame  ;  book  ;  cigarette  for 
Prosper  ;  two  Malay  dagger*  ;  footstool  ;  string  of  shells  ;  case  of  butterflies  ; 
letter-weight  ;  tobacco  jar.  containing  several  pieces  of  paper,  with  writing  on 
each  ;  handsome  India  shawl  ;  basket  with  fruit,  and  tray  to  empty  it  on  ;  bit  of 
icrewed-up  paper  for  muzzle  of  gun  ;  coffee  for  servants  to  band  around.  [»S'ee 
Scenery  for  full  list  of  curiosities,  etc 


SYNOPSIS. 


Prosper  Couramont,  a  young  gentleman,  probable  heir  to  a  rich  landed  pro 
prietor,  Brisemouche,  has  just  returned  to  the  latter's  chateau  after  an  absence  of 
three  years.  During  this  time  he  had  made  the  tour  of  the  world.  At  the  moment 
of  his  return,  he  finds  that  Louise,  a  young  lady  whom  he  had  fervently  admired, 
had  been  for  some  years  the  wife  of  the  Baron  de  la  Glaciere,  living  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Brisemouche's  chateau.  The  uncle  and  nephew  are  invited  to 
the  mansion  of  the  Baiion.  Prosper  not  only  recognizes  it  as  the  old  home  of 
Louise,  but  is  surprised  to  find  the  principal  sitting-room  in  precisely  the  same 
arrangement  of  furniture  as  when  he  was  last  there— the  favorite  suitor  of  Louise. 
He  even  observes  that  the  statuette  of  Flora  still  stands  on  its  bracket,  and  that  its 
companion  statuette,  accidentally  broken  about  that  time,  has  never  been  replaced. 
While  he  is  lost  in  wonder,  Louise  enters.  He  refers  to  past  times,  and  seeks  to 
reawaken  the  old  flame  in  the  breast  of  the  beautiful  lady.  But  she  at  once  checks 
his  ardor— telling  him  that  she  is  married  to  a  man  whom  she  respects  and  loves. 
Prosper  then  accuses  her  of  inconstancy— in  having  led  him  to  suppose  that  she 
loved  him,  and  then,  without  a  word  of  explanation,  breaking  off  all  communica- 
tion with  him.  She  replies  that  after  they  last  parted,  she  placed  a  note  for  him, 
as  usual,  in  the  statuette  of  Flora.  To  which  note  he  had  never  replied  ;  and  she, 
taking  offence  at  this  slight,  and  hearing  soon  after  that  he,  Prom-ir,  had  left  f*r 


4  A    SCUM'    OF    PAPER. 

a  tour  of  tho  v. oihl,  acted  on  the  advice  of  her  relatives,  and  became  the  wife  ol 
Baron  ii  .  ;  \  i.i  u  :i  i;i  :unl  was  well  satisfied  wit d  the  match.  It  was  now 
Prosper' s  tin  n  to  explain.  lie  said  that  upon  leai  ing  her  presence  on  t he  evening 
referred  ii>.  lie  found  two  gentlemen  on  tin-  lawn  gazing  up  at  her  window.  De- 
manding their  business,  he  received  impudent  replies,  and  the  result  was  two 
duels,  in  the  last  of  which  he  was  so  severely  wounded,  that  he  kept  bis  room  for 
months.  The  cause  of  the  duel  rendered  it  necessary  to  keep  it  a  profound  secret. 
Consequently  the  lady  had  never  heard  of  it.  As  Prosper  thus  invalided,  could 
not  call  at  Louise's  house  the  note  was  probably  still  in  the  Flora,  where  it  had 
in  in  placed  three  years  ago.  The  thought  at  once  struck  the  two  whilom  lovers, 
ami  they  made  a  rush  for  the  Flora.  Louise  to  destroy  the  gushing  proof  of  her 
girlish  love,  Prosper  to  use  it  to  favor  ids  suit  with  a  young  lady  for  whom  he  had 
conceived  an  attachment.  From  this  moment,  the  main  interest  of  the  play 
attaches  itself  to  the  various  attempts  made  by  Louise,  Pbospek,  and  Suzanne,  a 
cousin  of  Louise's,  to  gain  possession  of  this  scrap  of  paper.  After  many  times 
finding  his  efforts  baiTled.  I'r.osrKit  at  last  Lit  s  possession  of  it.  and  as  he  thinks, 
successfully  hides  it.  indeed,  so  certain  is  he  that  Suzanne  'cannot  find  it.  that 
he  tells  her  it  is  in  one  of  two  rooms  in  which  his  curiosities  the  spoil--  of  his 
travel-  are  kept.  St  zanni:  not  only  tells  him  that  she  will  find  it.  hut  VOWS  that 
he  shall  burn  it  When  Louise  is  informed  by  Suzanne  where  the  scrap  of  paper 
is  hid.  she  joins  in  the  hunt.  Unfortunately  the  Baron  come-  to  the  locked  door. 
Louise,  terrified  at  the  thought  of  being  found  in  Pbosper's  apartment,  hides,  and 
Suzanne  at  last  allows  the  Baron  to  enter.    The  latter  has  begun  to  grow  jealous 

of  PROSPER,  owing  to  certain  suspicious  acts  which  he  had  observed  in  relation  to 
the  scrap  of  paper,  and  St/.anne,  to  screen  Louise,  hints  to  the  Baron  that 
Prosper  is  her  lover,  but  that  he  has  not  treated  her  properly.  The  Baron  takes 
tire  at  this  — will  not  listen  to  reason  -and  vows  that  he  will  make  PROSPER  marry 
her.  This  adds  another  tangle  to  the  already  tangled  skein.  Mixed  up  with  this 
principal  plot,  is  an  amusing  underplot,  in  which  an  old  maid,  Zenobie,  tries  to 
get  young  Anatole  for  a  husband.  The  strange  fortune- of  the  scrap  of  paper 
keep  everything  lively  until  at  last  Prosper  actually  burns  it.  Hut  not  before 
through  its  instrumentality  the  flame  of  love  lias  touched  his  heart,  and  he  becomes 
engaged  to  Suzanne,  to  whose  ingenuity  and  good  offices  it  is  owing  that  great 
mischief  was  not  caused  by  the  simple  scrap  of  paper. 


STAGE  DIRECTIONS. 

R  means  Right  of  Stage,  facing  the  Audience  ;  i,,  Loft  ;  Ci  centre  :  K.  c.  Right 
oM  vinte  ;  L.  C.  Left  of  Centre,  I).  !•'.  Door  in  the  flat,  or  Scene  running  across 
the  back  of  the  Stage;  <  '.  I).  ]•'.  Centre  Door  in  t  he  Flat  ;  R.  D.  F.  Right  Door  in 
the  l'lal  :    L.   D.   I'.   Left    Door  in   the   Flat  ;    R,   D.   Righl   Door;    1..   D.   Left   Door;    1 

E.  First  Entrance;  2  E.  Sec I   Entrance;  U.  10.  Upper  Entrance;  l.M  or  3  G. 

first.  Second  or  Third  Groove. 

R.  R.  C.  C  I..  <\  L. 

JW"  The  reader  is  supposed  to  be  upon  the  Stage,  facing  the  Audience. 


/ 


A    SCRAP    OF    PAPER. 


ACT  I. 

SCENE. — Drawing-Room  in  a  Fre/ich  Country  House. 

Baptiste  is  dusting  the   cushions  of  the  sofa.  l.  —  Pauline,  r.,  is 
rubbing  the  legs  of  an  old  ai  m-chair. 

Paul,  {turning  round  the  chair  with  disdain).  Only  just  look  at 
it  !  Did  you  ever  see  such  old-fashioned  rubbish  ?  But,  what  can 
you  expect  in  the  country  1 

Baptiste  A  pretty  idea,  indeed,  of  master  to  come  down  for  his 
shooting  to  this  out-of-the-way  old  house,  when  I  had  made  up  my 
mind  to  take  him  to  Baden-Baden  for  my  lumbago,  (opens  window 
shutter.) 

Paul,  (giving  up  work).  I've  enough  of  it  for  one — here  we  have 
been  at  it,  in  this  dust,  ever  since  five  in  the  morning. 

Bap.  (reclining)  Yes  ;  and  after  a  whole  day's  railway  shaking. 
(seated  ) 

Paul,  (throwing  herself  into  an  arm  chair}  Second  class,  too  !  that's 
how  poor  servants  are  treated  !  ■ 

Enter  Madame  Dupont,  l.  d. 

Madame  Dupont.  Well,  I'm  sure  !  is  that  the  way  you  dust  the 
furniture? 

Bat    Xo,  old  lady,  this  is  the  way  we  rest  ourselves. 

Paul.  To  whom  have  I  the  honor  of  speaking? 

Mad.  D.  You  have  the  honor  of  (crosses  t<>  c)  addressing  yourself, 
young  woman,  to  Madame  Dupont,  housekeeper  of  the  chateau. 

Bap.  (l.  )'.  Then  1  cant  compliment  you  on  your  housekeeping, 
old  lady.  I  should  say  this  room  has  never  seen  besom  or  broom  on 
it  for  the  last  two  years. 

Mad.  D.  You  are  out  there,  my  master — for  it's  "three  ! 

Paul    [  Qau9u^n9)-    Three  years'? 

Mad.  D.  (a).  Yes,  three  years  !  The  room  has  never  been  opened 
since  my  poor  old  mistress,  Madame  de  Merival,  left  for  Paris,  to 
take  her  daughter,  my  present  mistress  to  be  married  to  the  Baron 
de  la  Glaciere.  She  gave  orders  that  this  room  was  to  be  shut  up 
until  she  came  back.  She  never  did  come  back,  poor  soul !  for  she 
died  shortly  after  ma'amselle's  marriage — three  years  ago.  How- 
ever, I  always  obey  orders  ;  and  not  a  tiling  was  touched  till  my 
lady's  sudden  arrival  last  night,  when  she  ordered  all  the  house  to 
be  ready  to  receive  company  to-day— and  now  to  work. 


fi  A    SCRAP   OF   TAPER.  [ACT  I. 

Paul.   We'll  booh  finish  it  off,  (she  begins  /"  dust  tlie  statuette 

•  ■I'   /■''■'in.  ) 

Mad.  1>    What  ore  you  about?  von  mustti  i  touch  thai  image. 

I'  xi  i  Hut  ...  •■  creature  s  so  covered  withdusl  thai  she's  positively 
aol  decei  ' 

Mad.  I>.  No  matter  ;  nobody's  allowed  to  touch  Flora,  since  the 
dreadful  misfortune  that  happened  to  Zephyr,  her  sweetheart,  who 
stood  opposite,  (points  to  tlu  other  bl^'ket)  lie  was  smashed  to  hits, 
poor  little  innocent.  And,  after  that,  nobody  but  Mademoiselle 
Louise  was  ever  a. 'owed,  in  my  old  lady's  time,  to  dust  the  Flora. 

'"    'i..    Very  well,  then,  there's    nothing   more  to  do   here.      1  shall 

go  .  i.    have  my  cup  of  chocolate. 

BAP.    And  [cT0S8es  t<>  R.)  I  to  see  after  my  medicated  hath. 

Paul.  Ami  I,  to  my  Parisian  correspondence,  (irit/i  irony,  and  a 
mock  curtsey)  My  humble  respects,  Madame  Dupont. 

Bap.  {likewise).   Housekeeper  of  the  chateau. 

[Exeunt  Servants,  r.  d.,  laughing. 

Mad.  D.  (dusting  and  arranging).  Ugh!  whataset!  '•  My  choc- 
olate ;"  "my  medicated  hath;"  "my  Parisian  correspondence."  A 
pretty  pass  servants  are  come  to  ! 

Anatole  has  enU  red  stealthily,  by  irinilmr  during  this,  r.  c. 

Anatole  (r.,  mysteriously).  Madame  Dupont  ! 
Mad   D.   II..).  Bless  me,  if  it  isn't  Master  Anatole  !  and  here  at  the 
chateau. 

Anat.   (OS  before).    Has  she  come  down  yet'.' 

Mad.  D.  What,  my  Lady? 

Anat.   Oh,  no  !  Mademoiselle  Mathilde. 

Mad.  D.  And  pray  where  did  you  make  acquaintance  with  Made- 
moiselle Mathilde?  She  has  never  been  at  the  chateau  since  she  was 
a  little  girl — so  high. 

Anat.  Oh,  at  Paris — where  1  went  with  my  guardian.  Monsieur 
Brisemouche — you  know. 

Mad.  I).  Yes — our  neighbor,  who  lives  in  the  villa  at  the  end  of 
the  avenue.      Why    here  she  is — just  coming  in  from  her  ride. 

Enter  Mathii.dk.  r.  c,  in  a  riding  habit,  by  window. 

Mathilde  (r.,  saluting).  Health  and  greeting  to  Monsieur  Ana- 
tole ' 

Anat.  (c„  turning,  startled).  Oh,  Mademoiselle  Mathilde!  You 
are  up,  then  V 

Math.  Up,  yes — up  in  my  saddle,  two  hours  ago  (gives  Madame 
I).  Iter  hut  inn/  ir/iip.)  |  Exit  Madame  D.,  k- 

Anat.  (eagerly),     oh.  Mademoiselle  ' 
Math,  (mimicking),     oh,  Monsieur  Anatole ! 
Anat,   I — I — breaking   down)  I   hope  you  have  been  quite  well 

since  last   I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  vou. 

Math,  (as  before).   I — I — have  been  pretty  well,  I  thank  you. 

ANAT.  Then — you  are  making  fun  of  me  again  as  you  used  to  do 
R1   Paris. 

Math.  Utterly  incapable  of  it,  1  assure  you.  Well — what  have 
you  been  doing  these  last  two  months? 

Anat.   Doing?     Oh — nothing. 

Math.   That's  not  much 

Anat.  Only  scribbling  a  few  poetical  effusions. 


ACT  I.]  A    SCRAP    OF    PAPER,  f 

Math.  Oh,  show  them  to  me.  I 

Anat.   1  dare  not. 

Math.   Dare  not? 

Anat.   No  ;  they  contain  things  I  don't  wish  to  tell  you. 

Math.  You  shan't  tell  them  me — I'll  read  them. 

Anat.  Oh.  no  ;  you  might  be  angry,  and  I  couldn't  bear  that  ;  and 
so  I'd  better — [takes  up  his  hot)  that  is  to  say — oh — nothing  ! 

Math.  Well,  if  you've  nothing  to  say,  I'd  better  go. 

Anat.   But  I  have  a  thousand  things  to  say. 

Math.  A  thousand  !  that's  nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine  too  many. 
Don't  you  think  you  had  better  take  a  turn  in  the  park,  just  to  pick 
and  choose  ;  and  then,  when  you  come  back,  you  can  say  something 
like  this  :  "  Mademoiselle  Mathilde — I  am  very  silly " 

Anat.   Oh,  yes — 1  know  that. 

Math.  "I've  been  expecting  the  arrival  of  a  young  friend — with 
a  certain  degree  of  impatience  perhaps " 

Anat.    Yes — reckoning  every  minute. 

Math.  Very  well —  ■  reckoning  every  minute  ;  and  now  she  is 
come,  I  don't  dare  to  say  what  I've  got  on  my  mind  ;  although  there 
is  nothing  in  it  but  what  is  perfectly  proper  and  correct." 

Anat.  Nothing,  I  swear  ! 

Math.  Now,  that  s  what  you  had  better  go  and  repeat  to  yourself 
in  the  park  ;  and  when  you  have  got  it  by  heart,  you  shall  come  back 
and  say  it  to  me  ;  and  we'll  see  then  whether  I  shall  be  affronted  or 
not.     (iood  morning.  Monsieur  Anatole.  [Exit,  R.  door. 

Anat.  Oil — Mademoiselle  Mathilde  !  She  won't  stop.  It  s  all 
over  now.  I've  said  it  at  last — that  is  to  say,  she  said  it — but  it's  all 
one.  1  never  thought  I  should  ha\e  got  through  my  declaration  so 
cleverly.  Come,  there's  nothing  like  pluck,  after  all  !  (Mademoi- 
sei.i.e  ZENOBIE  calls  without;  L.  C,  'Anatole — Anatole!")  Oh! 
Mademoiselle  Zenobie  with  my  guardian — 1  can't  face  them  now, 
I  am  so  agitated. 

Anatole  escapes  by  one  window,  r.   c,  as  Mi.i.e.  Zenobie,  followed 
by  Brisemouche,  enters  at  the  other,  L.  c. 

ZENOBIE.    Anatole  !  Anatole  !  gone — escaped  ! 

Brisemouche  (holding  a  butterfly-net,  in  which  is  a  butterfly).  No 
such  thing — I've  got  him — isn't  he  a  beauty? 

Zeno.   Anatole? 

Bkise.  (l,.).  No  ;  my  butterfly — a  remarkable  specimen,  my  dear.  • 

Zeno.  Bother  your  butterfly  !  brother,  brother,  I  tell  you,  you  had 
better  be  looking  after  that  flighty  boy,  than  spending  your  time 
hunting  for  dirtv  insects. 

Bribe  (sitting  hy  table).  My  precious  Zenohie,  entomology  is  a 
science  which  never  did  harm" to  any  living  creature,  (sticks  butterfly 
with  a  pin  on  hishft.) 

Zeno.  (snappishly).  I  tell  you  once  more,  brother,  that  you  don't 
fulfill  your  duties  as  guardian  to  that  child. 

Brise    A  child  !  poor  dear  little  baby  ! 

Zeno.  It  was  all  very  well  before  you  conceived  the  ridiculous 
idea  of  taking  the  hoy  with  you  to  Paris. 

Brise.   It  was  necessary,  my  dear,  for  his  law  business. 

Zeno.  And  putting  all  "sorts  of  notions  into  his  head,  by  throwing 
him  in  the  way  of  a  quantity  of  improper  Parisian  flirts. 

Brise.  I'm  "sure  he  only  saw  the  best  of  company  at  Madame  de  la 
Glaciere's. 


9  A    SCRAP    JF    Vvl'KK.  [ACT    T. 

Zi.no.  Madame  de  la  Glaciere,  indeed  !  The  greatem  uirt  that  evei 
existed  '  I'm  sure  she  ^r"t  herself  prettily  talked  of  before  her  mar 
riage— only  ash  thai  absurd  friend  of  yours,  Monsieur  Prosper  Coura- 
mont,  who  has  just  arrived  at  your  house  from  Cochin  China,  or  Nova 

Zembla,  <>r  heaven  knows  where. 

BRIBE.  Well,  if  she  did  flirt  with  Prosper  a  little  before  he  went 
abroad,  it  was  before  she  was  married — what  of  that? 

Zeno  Whal  of  that !  Flirting  is  flirting,  before  or  after  ;  and  she 
and  her  Parisian  flighty  friend.  Mademoiselle  Suzanne,  who  is  old 
enough  to  know  Letter,  are  not  fit  associates  for  an  innocent  hoy  likl 
that. 

Brisk.  And  dp  you  expect  that  he  is  to  he  an  innocent  boy  all  his 
lite-tied  to  your  apron  strings?  1  was  an  innocent  boy  once  myself, 
and  1  am  now  a  devil  of  a  fellow 

ZENO.  Brother.  I  insist  on  you  holding  your  tongue  '  You  know 
vim  are  going  to  say  something  shocking. 

Bkisk.  Well,  there,  there  !  We'll  gel  him  well  married,  to  keep 
him  out  of  harm  s  way. 

Zeno.  Married  '  (simpering)  Wei.,  there  can  he  no  objection  to 
that,  providing  we  find  him  a  fitting  prudent  helpmate. 

BlUSE.   The  truth  is.  1  have  an  idea 

Zeno.  You?  nonsense'     What's  your  idea,  I  should  like  to  know. 

Brisk.    Well — no  — I  haven't  an   idea.   {goes   up  towards  window,  R.) 
Zend.  You've  got  some  foolish  notion  in  your  head.     Speak,  sir— 
I  insist  on  it. 

l-'n'er  Prosper,////  window,  r.  C,  dressed  in  an  entire  white  suit 
with  it  Chinese  parasol  over  his  head,  mid  a  Chinese  fan. 

Prosper.  Don't  speak,  Brisemouche !  (both  turn.) 

Zeno.  {sharply).  Sir! 

PROSP.  (C.)-  Don't  speak,  I  tell  you  !  When  your  amiable  sister 
falls  in  violence,  she  will  have  recourse  to  the  charms  of  persuasive 
seduction,  which  will  be  all  to  her  advantage,  {bows  ("  ZBNOBIE.) 

Brise.   (l.).    Oh,  oh!   as  to  seduction 

ZENO.  I  k.  i.  Hold  yourtongu< — you  are  going  to  say  something 
shocking  again,  {crosses  to  Brisemouche — to    Prosper)    And   do 

you  mean  to  say  you  have    been  round  the    village  in  that  outlandish 
garb  '! 

PROSP.  I've  been  round  the  world  in  it  !  {crosses  l<>  C.)  And  I  may 
Bay  triumphantly,  I  produced  the  most  striking  effect  just  now,  on  a 
charming  girl.  1  met  on  horseback— a  charming  girl.  She  laughed  in 
my  face  ! 

Zk.no.  I  should  think  so,  with  that  parasol  and  that  fan  !  Such  an 
outrage  on  all  decorum  was  never  seen  ! 

Prosp.   Very  frequently  at  Pekin. 

Brisk.    Yes,  among  such  savages  as  the  Chinese — — 

Prosp.  Savages!  Listen  to  my  European!  lb-  thinks  himself 
the  great  lord  of  civilization,  when  oner  he  has  sneered  out  the  word 
"Ravages.''  Why.  man,  in  these  two  highly  civilized  countries, 
China  and  Japan,  the  savage  would  he  you— with  your  whiskers  like 
two  mutton  chops  on  either  side  of  your  face,  and  your  chimney-pot 
of  a  hat  on  your  head 

Brise.   I — a  sa  v  age  ? 

Prosp.  Yes — yon — I — Mademoiselh — all  of  us — in  China  !  My 
friend  Brisemouche  doesn't  eat  hashed  puppy  dogs  and  stewed  birds' 
nest;  but  he  devours  pickled  oysters  and  snails  a  la  poulette.     My 


ACT  I.J  A    SCRAP    OF    PAPER.  9 

friend  Mademoiselle  Zeuobie  doesn't  piucli  lier  little  foot  in  a  shoe 
the  size  of  a  walnutshell  ;  but  she  pinches  her  waist,  and  sticks  out 
her  dress  with  a  cage  of  crinoline.  I  don't  smoke  opium — but  I 
smoke  twenty  cigars  a-day — ruin  my  pocket,  brutalize  my  faculties, 
and  make  myself  a  nuisance  to  every  delicate  nose  !  Savages  all  of 
us,  I  tell  you — savages  ! 

Brise.  I  should  like  to  see  you  come  to  a  pitched  battle  with 
Mademoiselle  Suzanne  on  these  points  ;  and  I'll  wager  she  has  the 
best  of  it.  I  know  her  arrival  here  is  expected  in  the  course  of  the 
day. 

Pkosp.    And  pray,  who  is  this  redoubtable  Mademoiselle  Suzanne'? 

Brisk.  Mademoiselle  Suzanne  de  Ruseville,  cousin  to  Madame  de 
la  Glaciere,  and  godmother  to  her  young  sister  Mathihle 

Prosp.   Godmother,  and  still  Mademoiselle? 

Brise.  Although  mistress  of  a  large  fortune,  she  has  refused  every 
offer,  and  chosen  to  remain  single  from  the  sheer  love  of  independ- 
ence. 

ZENO.  Ridiculous  affectation  !  Don't  talk  of  her — she's  highly  im- 
proper ! 

Brise.  At  any  rate,  though  she  does  live  in  the  midst  of  the  best 
Parisian  society  in  the  most  independent  style 

ZENO.  The  audacious  creature  ! 

Brisk.  She  makes  a  better  use  of  her  freedom  than  most  women 
do  of  their 

Zexo.  Hold  your  tougue,  brother!  {crosses  to  R. )  You  are  going 
to  say  something  shocking. 

Brise.  (seeing  the  Baron  de  la  Glaciere,  l  door}  Hush,  hush, 
my  dear  !  here  comes  our  host  the  Baron  de  la  Glaciere — as  usual, 
all  life,  spirits  and  gayety. 

Enter  the  Baron  l.  door. 

Zexo.  My  dear  Baron,  (crosses  to  L.)  I'm  delighted  to  see  you! 
How  is  your  dear  lady  Y  slept  well,  I  hope,  after  the  fatigues  of  her 
journey. 

Barox.  (cold  and  imp/'.sfiioK).  Perfectly. 

Brise.  Is  she  visible  ye1  . 

Bar.  Yes. 

Brisk.  We  will  go  and  pay  our  respects,  (crosses  to  L.)  Allow  me 
*o  present  you  my  friend,  Monsieur  Prosper  Couramont,  who  is  stay- 
ing in  my  house.  He  wants  to  speak  to  you  on  a  matter  of  consider- 
able importance. 

Barox.   Very  well,  {smt.ii  i..  of  table.) 

Prosp.  (aside).   It  isn't  a  man — it's  a  polar  bear  ! 

Brisk.  Come,  Zenobie,  you  know  when  men  want  to  talk  in 
private 

Zkxo.  Silence,  you  were  going  to  say  something  improper;  you 
know  you  were.  (  Ekei  unt  Brisemouche and  Madkmoisellk.  l.  <h»>r. 
Baron  motions  Prosper  to  be  settled.) 

Prosp.  You  won't  think  me  rude,  Baron,  if,  at  this  very  earls- 
period  of  our  acquaintance,  I  ask  a  favor  of  you?  (seated.) 

Barox.   Want  to  shoot  over  my  land? 

Prosp.  (sitting.)  Not  exactly.  The  game  I  have  in  view  is  not 
precisely  what  you  mean. 

Barox.  (cooWy.)  Ah  ! 

Prosp.  I  am  a  queer,  frank  fellow  ;  and  I  alwaysgo  straight  to  the 
point.      I  daresay    you   will  be   surprised  tc  hear  that,  thou<rk    I'v» 


JO  A    SCRAP   OF   PAPER.  [ACT  I. 

come  nil  the  way  from  the  other  end  <>f  the  world  to  get  married,  it 
is  nevertheless  very  much  against  my  will. 

Baron  (at  before).  Ah  ' 

PR08P.  Now,  I'll  tell  you  how.  I  nm  the  only  lieir  of  my  uncle, 
who  is  enormously  rich,  and  still  more  enormously  obstinate.  1 
have  always  been  a  sort  of  careless  devil,  and  never  took  much  care 
of  my  money — that  may  surprise  you. 

Baron.  Not  in  the  least. 

PROSP.  My  travels  round  the  world  have  played  the  deuce  and  all 
with  my  fortune  ;  you  naturally  ask.  why  1  should  have   undertaken 

them. 

Baron.  No,  I  don't. 

PrOSP.  No?  then  you  don't  want  to  know  how  the  cruel  treachery 
of  a  heartless  coquette  compelled  me  to  seek  oblivion  on  the  stormy 
brine  ? 

Baron.  No. 

PrOSP.  No?  hut,  of  course,  you  must  he  impatient  to  learn  the 
reasons  which  compel  me  to  marry. 

Baron.  No. 

PrOSP.  You'll  excuse  me,  hut  it's  indispensably  necessary  you 
tfiould  be  impatient  to  learn  them  ;  or  else  I  shouldn't  have  any 
earthly  reason  for  telling  you  them. 

Baron,   {coolly.)  Very  well — I'm  all  impatience. 

PrOSP  Thank  you  !  your  obvious  impatience  I  will  relieve  at  once. 
About  a  month  ago,  after  tossing  more  or  less  on  the  aforesaid 
stormy  brine  for  the  space  of  three  years,  I  knocked,  with  all  my 
crocodiles,  stuffed  parrots,  and  pet  monkeys,  at  the  door  of  the  uncle 
I  just  mentioned.  He  lives  ahout  a  mile  from  here,  in  a  sort  of 
dilapidated  owl's  nest.  "  Ah.  you  vagabond,"  said  he,  "it  is  you,  is 
it'.'"  "Yes,"  said  I,  'it  is."  "And  are  you  married  V"  said  he. 
"  Married  !"  said  1,  "  do  you  think  I've  brought  home  the  Queen  of 
the  Cannibal  Islands?"  "  Heartless  ruffian,"  said  lie.  "  Here  have  I 
condemned  myself  to  the  miseries  of  celibacy,  entirely  on  your 
account,  expecting  you  to  marry  and  bring  home  a  wife  to  make 
gruel  for  me  ;  and  you  presist  on  leaving  me  a  solitary  anchorite  in 
my  hermitage."  He  was  speaking  of  his  owl's  nest — "  Go,"  said  he, 
"  there  are  plenty  of  charming  girls  in  the  neighborhood,  and  if  you 
don't  present  me  with  a  neice-in  law  in  six  months  time,  I  will  marry 
my  maid-of-all-work,  and  cut  you  off  with  a  sou"  Now  what  do 
you  say  to  that ? 

BARON.    Nothing. 

PROSP.  Nothing?  Very  well,  then — we  won't  say  another  word 
about  it.  Well,  I  at  once  took  up  my  quarters  at  the  house  of  Brise 
mcMiehe,  your  neighbor,  who  always  has  a  bachelor  den  ready  for 
me.  I  told  him  my  dilemma,  and  lie  at  once  suggested  away  out  of 
it.  He  described  your  charming  sister-in-law  as  just  the  wife  for 
me — advised  me  to  pay  you  a  visit,  make  your  acquaintance,  and 
propose  for  the  young  lady's  hand.  I  have  paid  you  a  visit,  made 
your  acquaintance,  and  I  hereby  propose  for  the  young  lady's  hand. 
{rises.) 

Baron.  Very  good. 

Pkosp.   Well,  then,  what  do  you  say  ? 

Baron.   I  don't  say  "no." 

Pkosp.  Then  you  say  "  yes." 

Bakon.    No. 

Pkosp.  Then,  uy  dear  sir,  what  the  deuce  do  you  say  ? 


ACT  I  ]  A    SCRAP   OF   PAPER.  11 

BARON.  You  must  see  my  wife  and  her  sister — it's  their  affair. 
( rings — Baron  rises. ) 

Prop1'.  So  be  it— I  had  the  honor  of  knowing  Madame  de  la 
Glaciere  before  her  marriage,  three  years  ago,  when  I  was  staying 
with  Brisf  .nouche,  but  not  per  charming  sister,  who  was  then  at 
school. 

Enter  Pai.  ine,  r.  door. 

Baron.   Tell  your  mistress,  a  gentleman  requests  to  see  her. 

Prosp.  And  give  her  my  card  at  the  same  time. 

[Exit  Pauline,  l,  door,  with  care. 

B>ton.  Stop  to  lunch  if  you  like. 

Prv    °.  Enchanted  ! 

Barc  ::.  Excuse  me  now — I  must  go  and  look  after  my  dogs. 
{crosses  to  r.  c.)  We  have  a  shooting  party  after  luncheon — you  can 
come   "nth  us  if  you  like.  [Exit,  by  window,  R.  c. 

Pros.  Cordial  creature  !  I  have  made  easy  work  of  the  husband 
— and  now  for  the  wife.  His  wife  I  Louise  !  Pretty  changes  three 
years  have  brought  about !  Not  in  this  room,  though — it  looks  ex- 
actly as  when  I  last  saw  it — the  table — the  ornaments — the  same — 
and  the  very  same  piece  of  embroidery,  {taking  up  book)  "  Gene- 
vieve ! "  the  very  book  we  were  reading.  Why,  it's  the  palace 
of  the  sleeping  beauty  in  the  wood,  with  everything  asleep  in  the 
place. 

Enter  the  Baroness,  Louise  de  la  Glaciere,  l.  door. 

Louise    Till  you  come  to  wake  it  up,  my  fairy  Prince. 

Prosp.     turning).  Louise!  {checking  himself)  Madam! 

Louise  {showing  card).  1  could  scarcely  believe  my  eyes,  when  I 
read  this  well  known  name.     And  it  is  really  you'? 

Prosp.   Positively  I,  and  no  other — am  I  so  changed,  then? 

Louise.   Indeed  you  are  ! 

Prosp.  Frank,  at  all  events  I  will  be  as  candid— time  has  passed 
you  by 

Louise.  As  gallant  as  ever,  I  see — but  you  are  wrong — I  am 
changed  entirely. 

Prosp.  Entirely  V  what,  does  nothing  then  remain  of  the  heart 
which,  three  years  ago,  promised  mine  so  bright  a  dream  of  happi- 
ness ? 

Louise.  Nothing  whatever — there's  not  a  scrap  of  my  heart,  nor  a 
thought  of  my  mind,  that  does  not  belong  to  its  proper  owner. 

Prosp.  A  sad  change  indeed,  (sighs.) 

Louise  Now,  don't  sigh  in  that  silly  way,  my  dear  Prosper.  Our 
idle  flirtation,  I'm  sure,  has  no  more  real  place  in  your  heart  than  it 
has  in  mine.  We  shall  always  be  good  friends,  and  have  long  talks 
about  your  travels,  and  so  on.  And  now,  what  did  you  wish  to  see 
me  about  ? 

Prosp.  About  my  marriage. 

Louise    Marriage  !  tell  me  all  about  it — with  whom? 

Prosp.  With  your  sister,  Mademoiselle  Mathilde  de  Merival. 

Louise.  Mathilde  !  she's  a  mere  child. 

PROSP.  There  are  no  children  now,  madam,  except  babies  in  arms. 

Louise.   But  she  doesn't  even  know  you 

Prosp.  So  much  the  better — the  unknown  has  so  many  charms 

Louise.   How  do  you  know  but  what  she  may  love  somebody  else  ? 

Prosp.   I  should  be  delighted  to  hear  it. 

Louise.  Delighted  ? 


12  A    SCRAP    OF    PAPER.  [ACT  I. 

Prosp.  Certainly,  my  dear  madam  I've  been  in  China,  and  know 
something  about  teas.  It's  a  capita]  plan  to  pour  boiling  water  on 
t lie  tea  leaveB,  in  order  to  open  them,  and  then  throw  it  away-  ih< 
first  infusion  is  ap(  to  be  bitter — the  nexl  cup  is  sure  to  be  all  the 
more  agreeable.  So  with  love,  my  dear  madani,— throw  the  first  in- 
fusion away  ;  and  the  second  will  have  all    the  real  flavor. 

Louise.  You  are  not  so  much  changed  as  1  thought — you  are  as 
absurd  as  eve]-,  I  see. 

Prosp    You  are  happy,  I  presume? 

Louise.  Perfectly;  i  love  my  husband  devotedly — (rises)  and -if 
1  have  a  regret,  it  is  that  1  should  have  deluded  myself  into  the  belief 
1  ever  cared  for  another. 

Rrosp.  There,  you  see — you  have  flung  your  lirst  infusion  away  ; 
and  the  matrimonial  cup  is  all  the  sweeter  for  it.  Why  should  \i>u 
deprive  your  charming  sister  of  the  same  advantage? 

Louise.  Prosper,  with  my  consent,  this  absurd  marriage  never 
shall  lake  place.  1  was  a  silly,  frivolous,  foolish  coquette — if  you 
will— when  first  1  knew  you,  sir.  Much  as  1  deceived  myself  in 
fancying  I  was  attached  to  you,  l  will  not  have  the  remembrance  of 
my  folly  forced  upon  me.  by  the  presence,  in  my  family  — before  my 
husband's  eyes — of  one  whom  1  have  ever  permitted  to 

Prosp.  Don't  stop—  to  utter  words  of  love,  which  you  so  sweetly 

echoed 

Louise  (angrily  at  first — then  calmly).  You  yourself  have  proved 
how  right  1  am.  Come,  come  he  generous  It  is  but  little  I  ask  of 
you.  You  do  not  even  know  my  sister — give  up  the  idea  of  her,  and 
leave  the  house;  be  assured,  1  shall  ever  feel  for  you  the  truest 
friendship. 

PROSP.    I  am  very  sorry — but  I  don't  believe  it 

Loutse.    You  don't  believe 

Prosp.  In  your  friendship — no — no  more  than  I  would  counsel 
you  to  believe  in  mine.  You  are  right  in  saying  that  what  we  both 
thought  love — yes — both — was  nothing  of  the  sort  Hut,  besides 
wounded  affection,  there  is  such  a  thing  as  wounded  vanity.  Three 
years   ago   you  dropped    me  like  a  hot   potato.    (PROSPER   advances  (<> 

Louise    slu    retreats  t<>  i.)  That   potato's   not  cold    yet — I   have 

nursed  it  at    the    poles,  and    roasted  it    at   the   tropics  ;  the   ashes  of 
wounded  vanity  still  glowin  it  ;  and  nothing  but  revenge  can  quench 

them. 

Louise.  What  do  you  mean?  (seated,  taking  up  embroidery.) 

PROSP.  Everthing  around  us  remains  exactly  as  when  we  last  met. 
It  will  require  the  very  smallest  effort  of  imagination  on  your  part 
to  believe  the  interval  of  three  years  only  one  night — that  our  part 
ing  was  but  yesterday.  Well — yesterday  you  were  sitting  there 
working  at  that  very  same  piece  of  embroidery — (seated)  I  was  sitting 
here  reading  aloud  this  identical  hook  ;  your  mother  dozed  in  yonder 
arm-chair — hut  dozed  so  lightly  that  our  love  could  only  be  expressed 
in  looks  and  sighs,  and  little  notes  flicked  across  the  table — notes 
that  I,  poor  innocent  that  I  was.  never  failed  to  hum.  (Hues)  Look  ! 
even  our  beloved  ] >ost  box — that  statuette  of  Flora-is  still  there,  as 
it  was  three  years  ago — I  mean  yesterday.  Well,  then — yesterdav 
evening.  Mademoiselle  Louise  de  Merival,  you  left  me  with  the  sweet 
consoling  words  :  "We  meet  again  to-morrow  "—and  this  morning 
I  find  you  Baroness  de  la  Glaciere.  You  must  admit  the  transforms 
ti...:  appears  rather  abrupt. 

LOUISE.    And  whose  was  the  fault  1 — yo\jrs — and  yours  alone. 

PKOSP.    Mine  ! 


ACT  I.]  A   SCRAP   OF    PAPEB.  13 

Louise.  Why  were  you  not  near  me  to  prevent  ihe  wicked  Baron 
from  carrying  me  off  < 

Prosp.  Where  was  I  ?  On  leaving  you  last  night — three  years  ago 
—  instead  of  going  home  to  bed,  I  stayed  standing  on  the  damp  grass 
to  gaze  upon  your  window — I  had  lighted  a  cigar  and  was  emitting 
smoke  and  sighs  together,  when  all  at  once  1  saw  a  little  bright  spot 
before  me.     It  wasn't  a  glowworm — it  was  another  cigar. 

Louise.  A  cigar  ! 

Prosp.  Yes  ;  with  a  man  behind  it — one  of  your  ardent  admirers. 
Monsieur  de  Riviere.  Mutual  surprise,  considerably  augmented  by 
the  discovery  of  a  third  bright  spot!  It  was  a  third  cigar — with  a 
third  man  behind  it — Monsieur  Tonnere,  another  of  your  ardent 
admirers. 

Louise.  Ah  !  (rises.) 

Prosp.  Three  burning  hearts  offering  the  incense  of  their  lov« 
and  their  cigars  beneath  your  window  !  Stormy  explanation  ensued  ; 
and  two  very  satisfactory  little  duels  were  the  consequence. 

Louise.   Good  heavens  ! 

PROSP.  !><■  Tonnere  contrived  to  give  me  a  lunge  through  the  arm, 
which  caused  me  to  be  carried  home  fainting,  and  put  to  bed  in  a 
state  of  high  fever  and  delirium — and  there's  where  I  was. 

LOUISE    Hut  my  letter  must  have  explained 

Prosp.  Your  letter  V 

LOUISE.  Yes — the  letter  that  I  wrote  to  tell  you  of  my  mother's  de- 
termination to  start  for  Paris  at  daybreak — to  marry  me  to  the  Baron 
de  la  Glaciere.  I  scarce  know  what  I  wrote  ;  but  you  must  know 
— you  must  remember. 

Prosp.   Upon  my  honor,  this  is  the  first  word  I  have  heard  of  it. 

Louise.  Do  not  say  that.  1  came  down  hereby  stealth  to  place 
the  letter  in  the  usual  spot — certain  that,  you  would  seek,  and  find  it 
there,  the  next  morning. 

Prosp.  But  the  next  morning  I  was  in  bed  with  a  high  fever,  I 
tell  you. 

Louise   (rising   alarmed).  But  if  you  did  not  take  it,  who  did7 
Where  can  the  letter  be  ? 
Prosp.   Where  it  was,  perhaps — inside  the  Flora  ! 
Louise.   Yes — this  room  has  never  been  opened  since. 
Prosp.  Then  the  letter  must  be  still  there. 
Louise.    I  scarce  dare  look. 
Prosp.   Never  mind.  I  will. 
Louise  (eagerly).  No  !  I,  \— (they  both  go  up  to  Morn.) 

Enter  the  Baron  De  la  Glaciere  by  r.  c.  window. 

Prosp.  (turning  sharply  with  coldness).  Your  dogs  are  all  right, 
my  dear  sir? 

Baron.   All  right,   (crosses  to  C. — to  LOUISE)  What's  the  matter? 

Louise.  Nothing. 

Baron.   You  seem  agitated. 

Prosp.  Yes  ;  the  subject  of  our  conversation — the  object  of  my 
interview — was  of  a  nature  to 

Baron  (<.).   Oh!  exactly — your  offer. 

PROSP.    (H.\.    Precisely  so. 

Baron  (to  Louise).  Well? 
Prosp.   Well,  it  appears  it's  a  settled  affair. 

Louise  (l.).  I  have  convinced  Monsieur  C'ouramont  that  there  are 
serious  obstacles  in  the  way. 


14  A    KCRAr    OF    TAPER.  |  ACT  L 

Baron.   Ah  ! 

Prosp.   I   beg  your  pardon  !  Obstacles  to  me  are  only  stimulants. 

Enter  Mathil.de,  l.  door,  followed  by  Zenobia  and  Anatole,  l. 
door,  and  Brisemouche. 

Math    {kissing  Louise).  Good  morning,  sister  dear. 

Prosp   (aside.)  Sister]  she!  my  enchanting  horsewoman  of  this 
morning  '  {aloud)  No,  no  ;   unless'the  lady  herself  objects,  1  shall  en 
deavor  to  stand  my  ground. 

Baron.  Quite  right— try  four  luck,  (goes  up  b.) 

I... i  isi;  {low  to  Prosper).  This  is  neither  delicate  or  generous  of 
you  ;   but,  at  the  same  time,  it  is  perfectly  useless,  believe  me.  {goes 

up.) 

Zeno.  {coming  down  to  Anatole — apart  to  him).  1  forbid  you  to 
say  one  word  to  thai  Mademoiselle  Mathilde,  sir.  {takes  Anatole 
away.  I 

Bribe,  {coming  down  to  Prosper).  Well,  how  do  you  get  on? 
What  does  the  Baroness  say  to  yum-  suit  ?  {crosses  to  a.) 

Prosp  She  has  declared  against  me.  But  I  defy  her.  Brisemouche, 
did  you  ever  see  two  men  aim  at  one  partridge?  That's  exactly  what 
1  and  the  Baroness  are  doing.      The  partridge  is  there. 

BRISE.    A  partridge?      Where  ? 

Prosp.  {turning,  a/id  seeing  Louise  on  the  point  of  raising  up  tlie 

statu,  tte  of  Flora).  By  Jove  !  she's  going  to  bring  it  down  ! 

Enter  Mademoiselle  Suzanne  de  Rusevtlle,  l.  c. 

Suzanne.  Here  1  am  at  last  !  (everybody  turns  round — Louise  is 
obligedto  put  down   tin  statuette.) 

Brisk     j   Mademoiselle  de  Huseville  ! 

LOUISE    ■  Suzanne  ! 

M  \tii.    )  All,  my  dear  godmother  ! 

Prosp.  (tofiile  the  Baroness  goes  to  embrace  Suzanne).  She  has 
missed  this  time.  Now  it's  my  turn  !  (goes  up  to  the  Flora,  but  is 
stopped  by  Zenobie,  who  intercepts  his  passage.) 

Suz.  (kissing  the  Baroness  and  Mathilde)   How  d'ye  do — how 

d'ye  do? 

Math.  I'll  see  that  your  room  is  ready.  I  Exit,  u  door. 

Suz.  Mow  do  you  do,  cousin?  (to  BARON,  R.)  You  know  you  are  a 
bear— hut  I'll  allow  you  to  hug  me  for  once  in  a  way.  Ah,  Monsieur 
Brisemouche  ! 

Brise.  (presenting  Anatole).  My  young  ward,  whom  I  think  you 
1 1 1 ■  -t  in  Paris. 

Zeno.  (plucking  Anatole,   who  is  advancing  towards  Suzanne). 

Come  away,  sir.  the  impudent  creature  may  want  to  kiss  you  next! 

St/.,  (pulling  Anatole  towards  her^.  Now  you  shall  see  how  I'll 
make  the  dear  hoy  blush  !  (offers  her  ho  ml.  ir/iir/i  he  is  obliged  to  kiss) 
There!  Didn't  I  tell  you  he'd  blush?  (bowing  to  Zenouie)  Mademoi- 
selle Zenobie,  as  fresh  as  ever  1  see. 

Zeno.  (it,  curtseying  stiffly).  Mademoiselle!  (she  pulls  away  Ana- 
tole, ond  gives  him  "  scolding  apart.) 

Louise  (l.,  turning  and  seeing  Prosper,  >rh<>  lias  gone  w/>  ami"' 
that  moment  has  his  hand  on  Flom).  Monsieur  Couramont ! 

Prosp.  Missed  ! 

Louise  (presenting  Prosper  eagerly,  so  ax  to  oblige  him  to  rome 


ACT!.]  A    SCRAP   OF   PAPER.  15 

down).  Monsieur  Prosper,  allow  me  to  present  you  to  Mademoiselle 
de  Ruseville. 

Suz.  Delighted  !  (looking  at  both  of  them,  aside)  Hum !  hum  ! 
there's  something  going  on  here  !  (Brisemouche  behind  table,  C. — 
Baron  by  his  side,  r. — Anatole  and  Zenobie  on  sofa,  i>.) 

Prosp.  (l.).  I  have  long  been  desirous  of  being  introduced  to  you, 
Mademoiselle. 

Suz.  You  are  fond  of  curiosities,  1  believe? 

Brise.  He  has  collected  them  from  all  parts  of  the  world.  He's  a 
mighty  traveller 

Suz.  A  man's  happy  privilege  !  How  is  a  poor  woman  to  scamper 
over  the  world  in  steel  hoops  and  crinoline  petticoats  ?  What  is  the 
greatest  curiosity  you  have  seen  in  the  world ? 

Prosp.   The  greatest  curiosity  ?     Woman,  of  course  ! 

Suz.   It  seems  you  have  studied  the  animal. 

Prosp.  Yes,  as  Brisemouche  does  insects  and  reptiles. 

Suz.  I  hope  you  have  not  found  any  venomous  specimens. 

Prosp.  Sometimes — and  they  are  generally  the  fairest  to  the  eye. 
(turns  to  look  at  the,  Baroness,  and  sees  her  about  to  take  down  the 
Flora — aside)  She's  at  it  again  !  (aloud)  I  was  just  making  that  iden- 
tical remark  to  Madame  de  la  Glaciere — wasn't  I V  (by  directly  ad- 
dressing the  Baroness,  lie  forces  her  to  drop  the  Flora,  which  she  has 
just  lifted  and  coins  down — he  offers  her  a  chair,  and  thus  obliges  her 
to  sit)  I  was  comparing  woman  to  a  bird  with  a  sharp  beak  long 
claws  and  varied  plumage,  which  it  is  always  striving  to  show  off  to 
the  best  advantage,  and  moults  at  every  caprice  of  fashion 

Suz.  Indeed  !  And  would  you  speak  in  that  tone  of  your  mother, 
or  your  sister,  or  your  wife? 

Prosp.   I  haven't  got  one. 

Suz.  Then,  that's  the  reason  you  are  so  deficient  in  your  knowledge 
of  natural  history. 

Prosp.   But,  my  dear  madam,  the  exception  only  proves  the  rule. 

Suz.   But,  my  dear  sir,  the  rule  is  wholly  made  up  of  exceptions. 

Prosp.  Well,  I  confess  I  believed  in  exceptions,  until 

Suz.   Until  what? 

Prosp.  Until  two  or  three  pleasant  attempts  were  made  to  poison 
me.  Since  then,  even  in  our  civilized  country,  where  poisons  take 
the  shape  of  perfidy  and  breach  of  faith,  I  have  sworn  never  to  be 
without  an  antidote 

Brise.   Bless  my  soul  !  an  antidote  !  of  what  nature? 

Prosp.  Oh,  the  merest  trifle,  sometimes,  is  enough — a  mere  scrap 
of  paper,  perhaps — a  morsel  of  handwriting. 

Suz.  [aside)-  He  means  some  letter.  Hum  !  hum  !  What  is  all 
this? 

Brise.  Fie,  fie  !  you  wouldn't  use  such  a  weapon  against  a  wo- 
man. 

Prosp  I  would — as  a  shield — not  a  sword.  Such  a  system  is  per- 
missible by  the  moral  code  of  every  nation. 

Brise.  There  !  we  shall  have  him  citing  his  darling  Chinese,  now. 

Prosp.  Why  not  ?  They  are  our  superiors  in  many  things — 
their  porcelain,  for  instance.  Now,  compare  with  Chinese  works  of 
art  this  little  Sevres  ornament  for  instance  ;  (to  the  Baroness)  it  is  a 
statuette  of  Flora,  I  perceive,   (takes  down  the  Flora.) 

Louise  (alarm,ed).  Stop,  sir  ! 

Prosp.   Don't  be  alarmed,  madam  !  I  know  all  its  value 

Louise  (trying  to  stop  him).  Give  it  to  me — it's  covered  with 
dust. 


16  A    SCRAP    OF    PAPER.  [ACT  I. 

PROSP.   [coming   down    >rith    it).    Don't    give  yourself  the  trouble. 
(ash/, )  l  feel  tin'  Letter. 

Louise  [trying  to, lust  with  her  handkerchief).  Allow  me,  with  my 
handkerchief 

Prosp.    No,  do!  I'll  blow  on  it — that  will  do.  (turns  away  as  if  to 
blow  the  it  ust  off  the  statuette.) 

Suz     seizing  tin  hand  ©/"Baroness  to  stop  her — apart).  Your  hus 
band's  eyes  are  upon  you. 

Louise.  <>h  !  did  you  bu1  know  :  [flu  letter  falls)  Ali!  (Prospeb 
puts  his  j'-mt  hastily  on  tht  letter.) 

Suz.  [aside).    A  letter?  I  was  sure  of  it. 

Prosp.  [giving  the  Flora  t<>  tin  Baroness).  It  is  evident  you  set 
greal  store  upon  this  little  ornament,  madam. 

LOUISE  [low  to  him).  What  you  are  doing  is  shameful,  sir  I  [the 
bellHngs  without  for  luncheon  I 

Enter  Mathii.de,  l.  door- 

Math.    Luncheon  is  ready. 

BRIBE,   [getting  up).    I'm  not  sorry  to  hear  it. 

\\\t.  [rising  hastily,  and  getting  away  from  Zenobia).  No! 
nor  I. 

Zeno.  [apart  t o  Anatole).  1   forbid  you  to  si]fc  by  the  side  of  that 
Mademoiselle  Mathilde. 
\\  \r.    Bui  I 

Xi.no.    I  forbid  you.  1  say. 

Math,  [seising  hold  of  Anatole).  You'll  give  me  your  arm,  Mon- 
sieur Anatole? 

Zeno  I  forbid  you.  [turning  she  finds  herself  opposite  to  the  Baron 
who  offerslu  rhis  arm  formally,  she  is  obliged  to  accept — the  Baroness, 
unwillingly,  takes  the  arm  of  Brisemouche,  and  keeps  looking  back 
at  Prosper — tJu  party  gradually  prepare  togoout,  l.  floor.) 

Suz.  [to  Prosper,  who  never  stirs,  and  stands  with  his  foot  on  the 

letter)     My  dear  sir,  don't  you  mean  to  offer  me  your  arm? 

Prosp.  1  beg  your  pardon,  lmt  I've  let  fall  my  handkerchief,  [lets 
falls  his  handkerchief,  and  picks  up  tin  letter  with  it.) 

Suz.  (loir  to  him).  Come,  come  !    Give  it  up  like  a  gentleman 

Prosp.  [lowtoher).  Give  up  what? 

SUZ.    The  letter. 

Prosp.   My  antidote?    No,  1  thank  you. 

Si  /,.    I'll  make  you  give  it    up. 

Prosp.   I'll  bet  you  anything  you  like,  you  won't. 

SUZ.    I'll  bet  you  anything  you  like,  I  will. 

Baron  [turning  back).   Are  you  coming,  you  two? 

PROSP.   [aloud).    Deign  to  accept  my  arm    madam. 

Suz.  So  you  are  a  collector  of  curiosities  !  I  think  I  shall  be  able 
to  --how  you  a  few  curious  matters  which  may  astonish  you,  great 
U-<     !1<  r  thai  you  are  ' 

Prosp.  [laughing).   In  instruments  of  warfare ? 

Si  '..  In  instruments  of  warfare!  Have  you  ever  met  with  any 
Amazons  in  your  travels?  They  say  it  is  a  fabulous  race — not  quite, 
my  dear  sir;  not  quite,  I  can  assure  you —I'm  an  Amazon  !  Only, 
now  a  days  people  call  us  old  maids,  blue  stockings,  or  strong 
minded  women  !  [they  go  up  towards  L.  door,  laughing.) 

<  ORTAIN. 


ACT  II.  |  A   SCRAr   OF   PAP^R.  17 

ACT  II 

SCENE. — Room  assigned  to  Prosper,  in  the  House,  oj  Brisemouche, 

Prosper  Couramont  is  seated  in  an  easy  chair,  r.,  before  the  table, 
wrapped  in  a  fur  dressing-gown,  with  a  fox-skin  rap  on  his  head. 

Prosp.  A  pretty  climate,  upon  my  word  !  There's  no  sense  about 
it  !  Before  luncheon  it  was  as  hot  as  Calcutta  ;  and  now,  later  in  the 
afternoon,  it  is  as  cold  as  Siberia  !  {throws  another  log  on  the  fire) 
I  can't  stand  caprice  even  in  the  weather.  The  male  beings  are  out 
shooting.  I  wish  them  joy  of  their  sport,  (warms  himself  at  fire. 
Francois  appears  at  c.  door)  What  do  you  want  1  Come  in,  do — and 
shut  the  door  !  I  didn't  ring. 

Fran.   A  letter  for  you,  sir.     The  messenger  waits  for  an  answer. 

Prosp.  (taking  the  'letter).  Ah,  from  my  uncle  again  !  I  know  his 
letter  by  heart  before  I  read  it — every  day  the  same  story  !  •'  Heart- 
less reprobate  !  where  is  your  wife'?"  (reading)  Of  course — "  Heart- 
less   reprobate!    where    is" The    twentieth    edition,    neither 

amended  or  corrected,  (throws  letter  into  the  fire)  Say  that  I'll  be  with 
him  in  less  than  an  hour,  and  have  my  horse  saddled. 

[Exit  Francois,  c.  door. 
I  can  be  there  and  back  again  in  less  than  no  time  !  I'll  see  the  pre- 
cious old  gentleman  myself,  and  tell  him  I've  found  a  wife — a  charm- 
ing wife — a  delicious  little  wife  !  (rolling  up  a  cigarette)  I'll  win  her, 
spite  woman's  wit  and  woman  wiles.  Ah  !  you  defy  me  to  mortal 
combat — do  you.  Mademoiselle  Suzanne?  You  want  to  steal  my  anti- 
dote— do  you,  Mademoiselle  Suzanne?  Possession  is  nine  points  to 
the  good  for  me  ;  but  how  to  keep  possession  ?  The  lining  of  my  hat 
was  a  good  place  of  concealment  ;  but  I've  had  a  warning  in  hat  lin- 
ings. I  once  slipped  &billet  doux  into  my  hat  left  it  on  a  ferocious 
brother's  table  ;  he  picked  it  up,  thought  it  was  his  own,  and  has 
vorn  my  letter  on  his  head  ever  since.  My  own  room  was  the  place 
— but  locks  are  not  to  be  trusted,  and  servants  still  less.  My  casket, 
to  be  sure,  has  a  secret  spring;  but  caskets  can  be  carried  off  bodily. 
I  daresay  some  people  might  think  it  the  simplest  affair  in  the 
world  to  hide  a  scrap  of  paper.  No  such  thing  !  It  was  a  problem — 
the  knottiest  of  problems — and  I   consider  that   I  made  a  stroke  of 

genius,  by  concealing  my   prize   in (a  knock  at  c.  door)  Who's 

there  ?    Come  in. 

Enter  Anatole,  c  door. 

Prosp.  (r.)  Oh,  it's  you,  my  young  friend  !  You  are  not  out  shoot- 
ing with  the  other  gentlemen  then  ? 

Anat.  (l. ,  awkward  and  embarrassed,  but  trying  to  put  on  a  digni- 
fied air).  No,  sir. 

Prosp.  Mademoiselle  Zenobie  was  afraid  of  yrour  meeting  with 
some  accident,  probably.     All  right  !    sit  down.     Take  a  cigar? 

Anat.  (as  before).   I  thank  you,  sir  ;  I  don't  smoke. 

Prosp.  (sits  R.  of  table).  Ah,  to  be  sure!  Mademoiselle  Zenobie 
objects  to  smoking. 

Anat.  The  fact  ir.,  sir,  I  am  not  here  for  the  purpose  of  smoking, 
but  of  having  a  serious  conversation  with  you. 

Prosp.   (seated,  r.  of  table,  by  fire).  Indeed? 

Anat.    I  have  learned  by  chance  from  my  guardian,  this  morning, 


18  v    SCB  \r    OF    PAPER.  |  \CT  II. 

rh.it  you  have  asked  the  hand  of  Mademoiselle  Mathilde  de  MerivaJ 
in  marriage. 

Prosp.  Quite  true  ;  what  then  1 

Anat.  Why  then,  sir.  I  beg  to  inform  you  that  I  am  in  love  with 
Mademoiselle  Mathilde,  and  that  my  most  anient  desire  is  to  m.w 
her  my  wife. 

Prosp.  Thai  is  to  say,  if  Mademoiselle  Zenobie  does  not  object. 

Anat  Mademoiselle  Zenobie  lias  nothing  to  do  with  it,  sir.  It  is 
an  affair  between  you  and  me.  Will  you  have  the  kindness  to  telJ 
me  whether  you  still  persist  in  your  intention  ? 

Prosp.  (aside).   P -hoy.  (aloud    My  reply  will  be  brief — Yes 

An  \t.    Well,  then,  sir.  you  know  the  consequences. 

Prosp.   You  don't  mean  a  duel  ? 

A\\t.  I  do.     What  else  should  I  mean. 

Prosp.  Very  well.  But  as  there  are  several  ways  of  duelling; 
may  I  ask  which  you  prefer  '.' 

An  \t.  I  give  you  the  choice,  sir. 

PROSP.  Thank  you.  I  own  I  have  a  sort  of  weakness  for  the 
Japanese  fashion 

Anat.  (getting  up).  The  Japanese  fashion  by  all  means!  I  shall 
have  the  honor  of  sending  you  my  second 

PROSP.    Oh,  quite  unnecessary  !      The  affair  can  be  settled  at  oner. 

Anat.  (pulling  off  his  gloves  .  Such  a  proceeding  is  contrary  to  all 
established  rules — but  nomatter — I'm  your  man! 

Prosp.  (fetching  two  Milan  daggers,  and  presenting  them  politely). 
Here  are  the  tools  for  the  job.     Take  your  choice! 

Anat.  One  of  these  ? 

Prosp.  Of  course.  (Anatole  takes  one)  You  have  taken  the  big- 
gest— but  nevermind.  And  now  (sits  down)  you  are  the  challenging 
party  have  the  kindness  to  begin. 

Anat.  (turning  in  an  attitude  of  defence*  ami  surprised  at  seeing 
Prosper  quietly  seated).  Begin!     How? 
Prosp.  (coolly).  By  ripping  yourself  up 

A  n  \t.   Hip  myself  up  V 

PROSP.  Yes,  it's  the  Japanese  manner  of  proceeding.  They  call  it 
"the  happy  dispatch."  The  challenger  rips  himself  up  first,  and 
then  the  challenged  is  bound  in  honor  to  follow  his  example.  Pro- 
ceed— I'll  follow  you  immediately  ! 

Ax  at.  I  am  not  to  be  made  game  of,  sir  !  We  an'  in  France  here, 
not  in  Japan  ;  and   your  fashion  is  utterly  absurd. 

Prosp.  My  dear  fellow,  the  whole  fashion  of  duelling  is  utterly 
absurd.  In  the  first  place,  if  we  fought  in  the  usual  manner,  /"should 
kill  you  to  a  dead  certainty. 

Anat.  Sir  ! 

PROSP.  Oh,  I  should,  I  give  you  my  word  !  And  then  you  couldn't 
prevent  my  marrying  the  lady.  But  if  you  rip  yourself,"  and  I  have 
to  do  the  same,  you  won't  marry  her  to  be  sure— but  you'll  have  the 
pleasure  of  knowing  that    I  can't  either 

An  \t.  You  are  treating  me  like  a  child,  sir  ! 
«  Prosp.  (rising  ami  holding  ant  his  hand).  Say  rather,  like  a  friend. 
Come,  my  dear  boy,  let  us  fight  out  our  fight  after  a  more  sensible 
manner— with  our  own  stout  hearts  and  mother- wits.  You  say  you 
love  Mademoiselle  Mathilde— so  far  so  good.  For  aught  I  know,  she 
may  be  very  fond  of  you— so  far,  so  better  But,  at  the  same  time, 
allow  me  to  flutter  myself,  that  if  you  have  made  an  impression,  it's 
just  possible  I  may  do  so  too,  especially  as  you  haven't  your  guard - 
I  a  "'s  •onsenj  to  the  marriage— and  what's  more,  never  will  have. 


ACT  II.]  A    SCRAP   OF   TAPER.  19 

Anat.    Never  will  have  !     Why? 
Prosp.  (laughing).  Why? 

Zeno.  (without,  knocking  ate.  door).  Monsieur  Prosper  ! 
Prosp.  (laughing  and  pointing  at  door).  That's  why '.'    But  I'll  be 
off — I  can't  show  myself  to  ladies  in  this  trim. 
Zeno.  (without).  May  we  come  in? 
Prosp.  Come  in  by  all  means?  [Exit  into  bed-room.  R. 

Enter  Mademoiselle  Zenobie  and  Mathilde,  c.  door. 

ZENO.  (looking  round).    Well,  where  is  Monsieur  Prosper? 

Prosp.  (from  hi*  room).  I'm  here!  I  beg  pardon — 1  was  dressed  as 
a  wild  Indian  ;  and  I  should  have  frightened  von  into  fits 

Zend.  It  is  for  us  to  beg  pardon.  We  expected  to  find  Mademoi 
selle  de  Huseville  and  the  gentlemen  here  ;  they  are  coming  to  in- 
spect  your  museum. 

Prosp.    Pray  inspect  by  all  means  !  (without,  R  ) 

Math,  (going  up)    What  a  quantity  of  pretty  things  ! 

Zeno.  (apart  to  Anatole,  whilst  Mathilde  is  looting  round). 
You  know  very  well  I  object  to  your  being  with  Monsieur  Prosper — 
lie's  a  very  dangerous  acquaintance. 

Anat.  You  won't  let  ine  speak  to  a  soul  next.  Now.  it's  Monsieur 
Prosper — now,  it's  Mademoiselle  de  RuseviUe— now,  it  s  Mademoiselle 
Mathilde (com  s  down  ) 

Zeno.  (r.).  And  pretty  attention  you  pay  to  what  I  say!  But  this 
I  tell  you — if  you  can't  behave  better,  hack  to  your  tutor,  the  Abbe 
Boulet,  you  go. 

Math,  (l.,  calling  .  Monsieur  Anatole — come  here!  Look,  Mon- 
sieur Anatole  !    calling  louder.  I 

Zeno.  You'll  not  stir,  (sits  down,  i;..  and  looks  over  illustrated 
books. ) 

Math,  (coming   d<ncn   to  Anatole).   Pretty  behavior  !  so  I  am  to 
run  after  you.  am  I  ?     Oh,  yes  !  1  see — Mademoiselle  Zenobie  has  for 
bidden  you  to  speak  to  me.  (sits,  l  c.) 

Anat.   (c).    But,  Mademoiselle 

Zeno.   Anatole.  bring  me  a  footstool. 

Anat.  Yes,  ma'am,   (fetches  a  footstool. 

Math,  (low  to  Anatoli;).   I  forbid  you  to  give  it  to  her. 

Anat.  ^bringing  the  footstool).  But  I 

Math,     showing  Iter  fat).    And  put  it  there  directly,  sir! 

Anat.  (between  the  tiro  women  with  the  footstool).  But  really,  I  don't 
know 

Zeno.   (r.).   Why,  you've  got  the  footstool  in  your  hands. 

Anat.  Havel?"  Oh,  yes  !  (looking  at  Mathilde,  who  keeps  point- 
ing nt  her  own  feet)  but— Mademoiselle  Mathilde  asked  me  to. 

Math,  (l.)  Oh,  if  Mademoiselle  Zenobie  desires  her  footstool, 
pray  give  it  to  her.  (Anatole  during  the  following,  keeps  going 
from  one  to  the  other.) 

Zeno.   (tartly)    You  are  too  kind,  mademoiselle. 

Math.   It  is  only  due  from  a  girl  of  my  age  to  a  woman  of  yours. 

Zeno.  (pushing  awap  the  footstool  which  Anatole  presents).  The 
difference  is  not  so  great  that  I  should  deprive  you  of  the  footstool, 
mademoiselle 

Anat.  (rejecting  the  foctstool  which  Anatole  presents).  Then  pray 
accept  it  as  a  delicate  attention  of  Monsieur  Anatole — which  I  give 
up  to  you. 

Zeno.   (oxide).   Insolent  minx  ! 


20  \    BOBAP  01     I  AlF.l  [ACT  II. 

Math,  (aside).  Take  that,  my  dear !  {rues.) 

Zeno.  [rising,  apai  t  to  An  \kh.ki.  \  ou  go  ba<  k  ..>  your  tutor's  tli;« 
very  evening. 

Math,  (apart  to  him  on  the  other  side).  It'  you  answer  her  one 
word,  I'll  never  speak  to  yon  again  in  my  life.  (Anatole  sits  dawn 
on  the  footstool  in  despair.) 

Enter  Brisemouche,  c.  doo-r,  in  shooting  attire,  irith  gun— followed 
by  Mademoiselle  de  Rubeville. 

Brisk.   May  we  come  in  V 

Enter  Prosper  Couramont,  dressed,  r.  door. 

PROSP.   By  all  means  !— by  all  means  ! 

Suz.  (entering — /"  Prosper).  Yon  see.  sir.  I  make  the  must  war- 
like entry,  like  an   enemy  armed  to  the.  teeth      Are  you  prepared  to 

repulse  me? 

Prosp.  As  an  Eastern  traveller,  1  have  bul  to  say,  *'  A  ray  of  sun- 
light has  the  right  to  enter  everywhere."  (bows  tolu  r.  I 

MATH.    And  if  one  isn't  a  ray  of  sun  ! 

Prosp.  (bowing  to  her).  The  perfume  of  the  rose  has  the  same 
privilege. 

Math,  (low  to  Anatoli:  >.  lie's  a  great  deal  more  gallant  than  you 
are. 

Prosp.   Well,  what  have  you  killed  to-day? 

BRIBE.    Between  us  all— just  one  dog! 

Prosp.  But  I  thought  your  friend  the  Baron  was  a  crack  shot  1 

Brisk.  De  la  Glaciere?  I  don't  know  what's  the  matter  with  him 
•his  afternoon,  lie  was  more  silent  and  morose  than  ever,  and 
missed  every  bird  1  left  him  with  Baptiste,  who  accompanied  us. 
(coming  in»,„  Anatoli:  with  his  gun  asifhe  came  upon  a  han  l  Poor 
puss — on  her  form — Holloa  !  what  are  you  doing  here? 

Zeno.   He  is  going  back  to  his  tutor's. 

Brisk.   On  that  footstool  ? 

ZENO.    This  very  evening — to  continue  his  studies. 

Brisk.  But.  my  dear  girl,  1  don't  sec  the  necessity. 

A. vat.  Nor  I.  (rises.  I 

Zeno.  But  I  insisl  upon  it  !  (goes  up)  There,  go  and  pack  up. 

Anat.  I'm  going—  I'm  going  !  (aside,  going,  L.)  But  I  in  not  gone 
yet.     Hang  old  Zenobie  !  [Exit,  L.  door. 

Prosper  standing ;  Zenobie  seated ;  Suzanne,  behind  her ;  Bribe 
moi'crk  seated  on  divan  ;  Mathilde  going  here  and  there. 

SUZ.  W  ell,  I  must  say,  the  collection  of  curiosities  in  this  room  is 
most  remarkable. 

Prosp.  Including  the  collector  1 

SUZ.  Especially  the  collector,  who  sits  on  an  American  easv  chait 
before  a  Flemish  table  covered  with  an  Algerine  table-cloth  ana 
smokes  Turkish  tobacco  in  a  German  pipe— or  after  a  dinner  a  la 
Russe,  at  which  he  has  talked  "sport  "  in  English,  drinks  a  Chinese 
beverage  out  of  Dresden  porcelain,  asks  for  Italian  music,  and  then 
calls  himself  a  Frenchman  ! 

Math,  (holding  «i<  <i  string  of  shells).  Oh,  what  pretty  shells! 
\-camrs  down.) 


ACT  II.]  A   S(;i...P   OF   PAPER.  21 

Prosp.   A    present    from    the    Queen    of    the    Cannibal    Islands. 
(cr 088 ex  to  c  ' 

ZENO.   A  collar,  1  see. 

Prosp.  (/■>  Zenobie  nnd  Suzanne  .   Yes.  (to  himself)  It  is  really  a 
petticoat  ;  hut  I  did  not  like  to  say  so. 

Math.   ir.).   Oh,  Anatole  !  what,  is  he  gone ?  [got*  up.) 
ZENO.   Gone,  Mademoiselle. 

Math,   (to  Prosper).  Many  thanks  for  you  kindness,  sir.     Are 
you  coming,  godmamma '.' 

Suz,  I'll  follow  you  immediately. 

Brise.  (to  Mathilde,  who  is  going  out,  l.).  Are  you  going  that 
way  ! 

Math.   Yes:  it's  the  shortest  cut  to  the  chateau,  (aside)  And  that's 
the  way  Anatole  went.  [h'.rit,  L. 

Brise.   I'll   be  off   too — who  knows — we  may   contrive  to   bring 
down  another  dog. 
Zeno.   (about  tofjn  out  door,  c).  Are  you  not  coming,  mademoiselle? 
Suz.   Thank  you  I'll  follow  Mathilde. 
Brise.  GhwxUbye,  Prosper  I 

[Exit,  i..  c.  door,  preceded  by  Zenobie. 
Suz.  (with  her  hand  on  i,.  door   as  if  ready  to  go).  I  wish  you  good 
sport    (to  Prosper)  I  have  the  honor,  sir,  (as  Prosper  goes  up  and 
doses  door,  c,  ond  bows   to  Iter — coining  hock  and  stating  himself ,  L. ) 
to  wish  you  a  very  good  day  ! 

Prosp.  (r.).  Oh,  oh,  I  thought  you  were  beating  a  retreat. 
Suz,  (L.).   Before  giving  battle?     It's  very  clear  you   don't   know 
me.      But.  first,  do  you  mean  to  keep  the  letter'? 
Prosp.   1  mean  to  keep  it. 

Suz.  Well  then,  before  coming  to  actual  hostilities,  suppose  we 
interchange  a  few  diplomatic  notes,   (l.  of  table,  R.  c.) 

Prosp.  (r.  of  table,  k.  a).  A  few  diplomatic  notes,  by  all  means. 
{both  seated. ) 

Suz.   Xote  one — On  our  side  we  make  an  appeal  to  the  honor  of 
our  adversary,  and  simply  ask  whether  he  thinks  it  honest  to  keep  a 
letter  which  "he  has—  what  shall  I  say? 
Prosp    Stolen  ! 

Suz.  No — we'll  be  diplomatic,  please,  and  say  "annexed."  What 
has  your  side  to  answer  ? 

Prosp.   That  the  letter  being  addressed  to  me  was  mine. 
Srz.   But  it  was  never  delivered — ergo,  it  is  still  ours. 
Prosp.  But  you  sent  it — ergo,  it  is  still  mine. 
Suz.   Pardon  me,  it  was  never  sent. 

Prosp.  Pardon  me,  it  was  put  into  the  post — that  is— the  Flora. 
ITie  question  is — -Does  a  letter  put  into  the  post  belong  to  the  sender 
or  the  sendee  ? 

Suz.   To  the  send -er. 
Prosp.  To  the  send-ee. 

Sua.   Well,  let's  cut  the  Gordian  knot— to  both. 
Prosp    When  the  rights  are  equal,  possession  decides  the  claim. 
I  think,  madam,  we  have  settled  that  question. 

Suz.  Hum  !  Note  two — We  next  inquire,  what  use  you  intend  to 
make  of  our  handwriting  • 

Prosp    My  answer  to  that  question  has  been  already  categorically 
given      Let   the  strictest  neutrality  be  observed  ;  and,  the  moment  1 
give  up  all  hopes  of  Mathilde,  I'll  bid  an  eternal  adieu  to  Madame  de 
la  Glaciere,  and  burn  the  letter  before  her  eyes. 
Suz.  You  will  do  than  '.' 


22  A    SCRAP   OF    PAPER.  [ACT  II. 

Pkosp.  On  my  honor!  And  I  verily  believe  I  slum! '  have  done  so 
at  once  on  returning  hom< — of  coarse,  without  admitting  tin'  fact — 
had  you  nut  defied  me  to  mortal  combat 

Si  /.  Well,  then,  1  withdraw  my  challenge  ;  and  you  can  born  it 
now.  [rising  ant!  laughing)  Look,  here  is  a  capital  fire — I  won't  say  a 
word  to  Louise    and  yon  will  lose  nothing  by  your  good  action. 

Prosp.  [ruing,  lavghing).  1  beg  your  pardon — I  should  lose  the 
intense  satisfaction  of  seeing  you  hunt  for  the  letter  in  vain. 

Si  /..    Is  that  your  ultimatum  '.' 

Prosp  My  ultimatissimum — Search,  search!  I  shan't  prevent 
you.     The  letter  is  here — somewhere  ! 

Si  /..    In  this  very  room  ? 

PKOSP.  Or  else  in  the  other  !  First  catch  your  hare,  and  then  you 
may  conk  him   yourself,  at  any  fire  you  please. 

Si  /..  No,  no,  I  shall  not  he  satisfied  till  1  have  made  you  bum  it 
with  your  own  hands. 

Prosp.  Indeed  !  Then,  I  give  you  my  word  of  honor,  if  you  con- 
trive to  do  that,  I  will  pack  myself  off  this  very  evening  to  look  out 
lor  a  wife  in  the  Cannibal  Islands.  .Jericho,  or  anywhere  you  please. 

Si  /..    Your  word  of  honor? 

PROSP.    My  word  of  honor  ! 

St  7.    Beware  !    I  am  obstinate. 

Prosp.  So  am  I 

Suz.  I  am  going  to  sit  down  to  a  regular  siege — I  shall  bore  you 
until  you  say  yourself.  "  I  had  better  burn  the  letter  and  get  rid  of 
that  nuisance  of  a  woman  !" 

PROSP  Never  was  criminal  threatened  with  so  alluring  a  punish- 
ment !  I'm  enraptured  to  think  of  the  many  pleasant  hours  we  are 
about  to  pass  in  a  long  delicious  tite  a  tite — I  am  sorry  to  be  obliged 
to  leave  you  a  short  time — I  have  an  indispensable  visit  to  pay  to  a 
tiresome  old  uncle  ;  but  pray  consider  yourself  perfectly  at  home. 
There's  a  good  fire — plenty  of  books  and  drawings  for  your  amuse- 
ment— all  my  curiosities  and  Mriseinouche's  entomological  treasures. 
Everything  is  open  for  your  inspection — except  this  little  casket, 
which  contains  papers  that  cannot  possibly  interest  you.  Open 
everything  else — turn  everything  topsy  turvy- — and  I  hope,  on  my 
return,  to  have  the  happy  privilege  of  renewing  this  most  agreeable 

conversation.  [  Exit,  c.  door. 

Si/..  He's  actually  gone !  Hang  the  man,  his  impertinence  is  per- 
fectly delightful,  (imitutiiiij)  '  Search,  search —everything  is  open 
for  your  inspection — everything  but  this  casket.''  My  dear  sir,  the 
stress  you  lay  upon  the  casket  convinced  me  that  the  letter  is  not 
there.  Hut  'wis  here — ••somewhere."  Where  can  he  have  concealed 
it?  [knocking,  1..  </'»//•)  Has  he  returned  ?  no — it  is  at  this  little  door 
leading  down  into  the  park,  {knocking  again)  Who  can  it  be?  I 
don't  want  to  lie  found  in  a  strange  gentleman's  room.  One's  never 
too  old  for  scandal — a  pretty  mess  I've  let  myself  into — that  comes  of 
meddling  with  other  people's  affairs,   [knocking  again.) 

Suzanne  opens  1..  dm>r — Louise:  looks  in — she  wears  a  remarkable 

Indian  shawl  Over  her  Intnl. 

LOUISE  (L.).   You  are  alone—  are  you  not  1 
Si  /..    1  u.      Louise  ! 

Louise  {coming  in  and  dosing  tin  door  behind  her  hastily).  I  saw 
him  ride  by  the  windows  of  the  chateau.     You  did  not  return  ;  and 


ACT  H.  ]  A    SCRAr    OF   PAPER.  23 

my  impatience  was  so  great,  that   I  hastily  threw  on  this  shawl  and 
came  myself    {crosses  to  u  .  and  puts  shawl  <>n  chair,  next  five.) 

Suz.   What  imprudence  !     If  your  husband  had  sefto  yon,  or  that 
dear,  delightful,  censorious  .Mademoiselle  Zenobie 

Louise  What  matter,  since  we  are  both  together.  Have  you  got 
it] 

Suz.  The  letter  1    No — he  refuses  to  give  it  up. 

Louise.  He  must  have  left  it  here.  Find  it — find  it,  I  entreat 
you  !  I  am  so  terrified — I  scarce  dare  raise  my  eyes  to  look  into  my 
husband's  face — I  fancy  he  suspects — knows  everything. 

Si  z.  What  if  he  does  know  everything '!  You  say  the  whole  affair 
was  only  a  most  innocent  little  flirtation. 

Louise.  Of  course  it  was — I  was  a  thoughtless,  romantic  girl  at  the 
time,  and  saw  no  wrong  ;  but  my  husband,  under  the  semblance  of 
apathy,  conceals  a  highly  sensitive  nature.  The  bare  suspicion  of 
any  previous  attachment,  even  of  the  slightest  flirtation,  would 
wound  that  nature  to  the  quick.  The  discovery  of  this  letter  might 
rouse  all  his  jealous  susceptibilities,  and  compromise  our  domestic 
happiness  forever. 

Suz  {seated).  Ah,  my  poor  dear  friend;  what  a  warning  you  give 
to  silly  girls 

Louise.   Not  to  write  letters  !  Oh,  yes — girls  should  never  write  ! 

Suz.  They  should  rather  beware  of  fostering  absurd  ideas,  and 
fancying  themselves  in  love. 

Louise.  But  don't  let  us  lose  any  time — let  us  hunt  about,  'goes 
up.) 

Suz.  (seated).  That's  the  very  thing  I'm  now  doing. 

Louise.  Doing  !  seated  there  ! 

Suz.  Yes,  in  my  head — that  s  my  way  of  hunting,  (the  Baroxess 
is  turning  over  books,  papers,  <t<\,  <>n  tht  table,  l.  c.)  But  do  you  go 
your  own  way  to  work. 

Louise    Ob,  you  put  me  out  of  all  my  patience  ! 

Srz.  woolly).  My  dear  child,  nature  made  woman  weak,  but  gave 
as  compensation  a  sixth  sense.  Have  you  ever  examined  any  butter- 
flies ] 

Louise.   What  an  absurd  question  ! 

Stjz.  (going  to  table,  L.  <\,  and  taking  op  a  ruse  ofbutterflies).  They 
have  got  long,  thin  horns  upon  their  heads  to  enable  them  to  feel 
and  appreciate  objects  at  a  distance.      Look  ! 

LOUISE.    What  do  you  mean'.' 

Srz.  The  naturalists  call  them  "  antennae  "  Well,  my  dear,  women 
too  have  "  antennae,'  but  of  such  a  delicate  nature  that  they  are  in- 
visible. Sometimes  they  are  made  like  tendrils,  to  entangle  our 
natural  enemy,  man  ; — sometimes  they  are  sharp  and  pointed'just  to 
blind  them,  my  dear. 

Louise  (turning  away  pettishly).  And  you  want  to  find  my  letter 
with  your  "antennae" — a  likely  idea  !  I'd  rather  trust  to  my  ten 
lingers,  (goes  on  opening  all  tin  drawt  rs,  etc.) 

Suz.  You  shall  see  how  I  will  use  my  ':  antenna?."  Yes,  yes  ;  open 
all  the  drawers — hunt  away.  Just  see  if  you  can't  find  your  letter 
in  the  guitar  case.      What  a  child  you  are  I 

Louise.   He  may  have  hid  it  among  the  books. 

Srz.  And  you  mean  to  look  among  all  the  three  hundred  volumes 
-  out  of  the  question  !  look  at  the  edges  of  the  shelves. 

Louise.   Why  1 

Suz.    Are  they  dusty  ? 

Louise  i  getting  on  a  chair).   Yes 


*24  A   SCRAP   OF   PAPER.  [ACT  H. 

Suz.  All  along  ? 
Louise,  ah  along. 

Buz.  Then  it  s  not  among  the  books.  It  he  lu»d  pulled  one  down, 
the  dust  would  have  been  disturbed. 

Louise.  To  be  sure. 

Buz.  Just  look  at  that  little  bit  of  paper  folded  together,  and  put 
to  steady  the  leg  of  the  table. 

Louise.  This? 

Suz.  Vcs  ;  (getting  up)  it's  not  worth  the  trouble,  the  paper  is  black 
and   worn. 

Louise.  Ves  ;  and  he  would  never  have  put  it  there,  where  every- 
body eun  see  it.  (she  continues  to  hunt  about.) 

Suz.  It  s  very  clear  you  don't  know  how  to  use  your  "  antennae." 
Your  knowing  man  would  he  sure  to  make  so  little  concealment  of 
an  object  he  wished  to  hide,  that  nobody  would  be  likely  to  look  for 
it  in  a  place  so  open  to  inspection.  I'll  wager  now,  that  if  we  can't 
find  this  unfortunate  letter,  it  is  because  it  is  lying  about  somewhere 
before  our  very  eyes. 

Louise  {who  has  been  hunting  about,  r.).  Nothing — nothing  !  but 
there's  another  room  here. 

Suz.  (10  in,  by  all  means.  My  right  of  search  is  unlimited, 
though.      No  matter  ;  you  will  give  the  alarm. 

|  Exit  into  room,  R. 

Louise  (opening  the  dour,  p.).   If  he  should  come  back. 

Suz.  (looking  around  her).  Where  can  it  be?  He's  clever  enough 
to  have  put  it  simply  under  his  letter-weight,  (lifts  up  letter-press) 
No! — in  this  vase'.'  Nothing  but  visiting  cards,  and  a  stick  of  seal- 
ing-wax. in  this  jar  '!  (opens  tobacco-jar)  Tobacco — cigarette-papers 
— several  letters  crumpled  and  torn,  (reading  superscription  of  Utter) 
"Monsieur  Prosper  Couramont,  to  the  care  of  Mahony  Brothers, 
Madrid  "  "  Monsieur  Prosper  Couramont,  Albany,  London." — "  Try 
Post-office,  Paris."  ((/arson  with  several  other  letters,  which  she  passes, 
as  she  speaks  from  her  Hght  hand  in  her  left)  "Monsieur  Prosper 
Couramont — to  the  care  of  the  Reverend    Mr.    Huggins,    Sandwich 

Islands!'      "  Monsieur  Prosper  Couramont  " (stops,  and  takes  up 

last  litter)  Stop!  this  letter  has  seen  a  good  deal  of  the  world.  It 
must  have  been  a  very  precious  letter  for  him  to  have  brought  it  all 
the  way  from  the  Sandwich  Islands,  and  kept  it  so  long;  (weighing 
it  in  her  hands)  and  yet  it's  very  light  There's  only  the  veriest 
scrap  of  paper  in  it.  Now  who,  I  should  like  to  know,  would  have 
sent  a  letter  all  the  way  to  the  Sandwich  Islands,  costing  no  end  of 
postage-money,  which  cannot  contain  much  more  than  "  How  do  you 
do?" — "Very  well,]  thank  you."  It's  very  odd — very!  (calling) 
Louise  ! 

Louise  (in  the  room,  p.).  I  can't  find  it ! 

Buz.   Was  the  letter  large  ? 

LOUISE  (within).  No  ;  only  half  a  sheet  of  note  paper  folded  in 
two. 

Si;z  (feeling  the  envelope).  A  half-sheet  of  note-paper  folded  in  two 
(aloud)  On  white  paper? 

Louise  (asbefore).  No;  pink. 

Suz.  (holding  the  envelope  up  to  the  light).  It  is  pink  ! 

Louise  (asbefore).    I've  found  a  quantity  of  papers. 

Suz.  Have  you,  dear? — all  right  !  'smelling  the  envelope)  'Tis  an 
old  scrap  of  paper  ;  all  the  perfume  is  gone  ;  (holding  up  the  envelope 
again)  if  I  could  but  see  the  writing,  (about  to  open  the  envelope)  He 
gave  me  permission  to  search  everything  that  was  open,  and  this  en- 


ACT  H.  1  A    SCRAP    OF    PAPER.  25 

velope  j.«  open,  (checking  kernel/)  Stop,  stop  !  It's  not  quite  the  thing. 
One  isn't  in  the  habit  of  opening  other  peoples  letters  (feeling  the 
envelope)  And  yet,  it'  it  were  Louise's  letter.  Oh  !  my  fingers  burn — 
my  fingers  burn  ! 

Ent(  r  Louise,  i;. 

Louise  (crying  with  vexation).  Oh  !  my  dear  Suzanne,  I  give  it  up ! 
We  shall  never  find  it  now — we  shall  never  find  it  now  ! 

Suz.  I  can't  bear  it  any  longer — I  can't  see  her  cry.  (opens  envelope 
and  takes  out  paper  which  she  /mnd-s  to  Louise)  is  your  letter  any- 
thing like  that  ? 

Louise  (opening  the  [in per).   'Tis  the  letter  itself  ! 

Suz.  (bursting  out  laughing).  What  do  say  to  my  "antennae  "  now, 
my  dear ? 

Louise.  Oh,   yes — it's    the    same — (reading)     "  1    am  obliged    to 

leave  home  by  daybreak  ;  but  far  or  near "  Could  I  have  written 

such  words  V     Fool  that  I  was  !  and  should  my  husband  ever  know  ! 
(violent  knocking,  L.  door.) 

Suz.  Some  one  knocks  ! 

Louise,   it  was  there — th>3re  ! 

Baron  (without,  \,.).  Open  the  door  ! 

Suz.   Your  husband  !     Give  me  the  letter,   (snatches  it.) 

Louise    Good  heavens!  where  shall  I  hide 1 

Suz.  (low — going  to  open  the  door).  Don't  think  of  hiding — stay 
where  you  are. 

Louise.  No,  no — he  would  see  my  agitation,  (runs  to  door,  R. — 
Baron  continues  to  knock.) 

Suz.  (low — her  hand  on  lock  of  door,  l.1.  No — stop,  1  tell  you! 
(Louise  enters  room,  H. — with  vexation)  Oh,  foolish  woman!  (she 
opens  the  door,  L.) 

Entt  r  B  uiii\,  l.  door,  in  shooting  dress,  with  his  gun. 

Baron  (t,.,  surprised)-  You! 

Suz.  (R.,  calm  and  smiling).  Yes — I!  What  an  uproar  you  have 
been  making. 

Baron.   Here? 

Suz.    In  this  museum.     I'm  looking  at  all  the  curiosities. 

Baron  (looking  round  him)    Alone? 

Suz.  You  see [nits  at  table  and  examines  a  drawer  full  of  shells) 

What  a  wonderful  collection  of  shells  to  be  sure— only  look  ! 

Baron  (putting  down  his  gun,  i>  ).   But  1  heard  talking. 

Suz.  I  was  trying  to  pronounce  these  dreadful  words  aloud.  Why 
will  scientific  men  give  such  preposterous  names  to  things?  Oh, 
look — isn't  that  pretty? 

Baron.   You  were  not  alone   -Louise  was  here. 

Suz.  What  should  she  be  doing  here? 

Baron.  Something  she  was  ashamed  of  apparently,  sinceshe  made 
her  escape. 

Suz.  (toughing,  still  looking  at  the  shells).  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  does  that  fit 
often  seize  you,  cousin? 

Baron.   She  was  here,  I  say  ! 

Suz.  And  if  she  was,  why  shouldn't  she  be  here  still  ?  Do  yon 
think  she  has  hidden  herself  under  the  table? 

Baron  'roughly,  looking  her  full  in  the  face).  Then  why  didn't  you 
open  tlie  door  immediately  ? 


2fi  A   SCBAP   OF   PAPEK.  [ ACT  II. 

Buz.  (not  at  all  disconcerted).  Because]  thought  the  knocking  was 
hi  the  other  door — and  [  opened  that  firsl 

Baron.  In  order  thai  Louise  mighl  gel  away.  That's  the  way 
she  went,  then  '  (goes  up  to  c.  door.) 

Si/  VVhal  a  tiresome  old  bear  you  are  !  If  Louise  went  that  way, 
go  ami  look  after  her  ;  ami  Leave  me  to  examine  the  shells. 

Baron  in.,  coming  down).  My  wife  was  strangely  agitated  this 
morning,  alter  her  conversation  with  Monsieur  What's-his-name — 
whom  she  knew  before  her  marriage — more  still,  during  that  little 
affair  about  the  statuette— whal  did  that  mean? 

Suz.  (coming  down — looking  at  shells).  Perhaps  she  was  afraid  he 
would  drop  it. 

Baron  (getting  more  and  more  angry).  The  man  made  an  offer  of 
marriage  for  Mathilde,  without  ever  having  seen  her — amere  pre- 
text it  is  very  clear,  to  get  into  the  house,  and  see  my  wife — a  got- 
up   plan  to  divert  my  suspicions !  (seizing  hold  <>/  Suzanne)  Look 

11  ie  in  the  face,  and  tell  me  it  was  not  so,  if  you  can. 

SUZ.  It's  as  deal-  as  noonday — only  let  go  my  hand,  please,  for 
you  hurt  me  ;   and  a  pretty  mess   you  have   made  of   the    poor  shells. 

(opens  her  hand — shows  t/u  shells  in  i><>tr<it  d  You  really  don't  know 
bow  to  behave  yourself. 
Baron.   Listen:  lleft  Brisemouche  out  shooting  to  return  home — 

1  inquired  for  my  wife.  She  was  none  out  ;  hut  I  had  her  spaniel, 
Fidele,  with  me:  and  lie  has  tracked  her  to  this  house— to  the  foot 
of  that  stair.  I  tell  you  my  wife  is  here!  Where  is  she,  I  say'.' 
Where  is  she  '.' 

St  z  What  do  you  asl$  me  for'.'  Since  you've  taken  to  hunting 
pour  wife,  as  they  hunt   negroes,  whistle  for  Fidele,  my  dear  sir — 

whistle   for   fidele. 

Baron.   Suzanne  you  trifle  with  my  feelings  ! 

Suz.  Trifle  with  your  feelings  !  No  — 1  wish  to  spare  them.  If  I 
laugh  at  you,  it  is  to  show  how  senseless  is  your  conduct.  Come  — 
come — calm  yourself,  and  try  to  he  a  little  reasonable. 

Baron.  You  are  right— you  are  right  to  jeer  me— my  jealousy 
hlinds  me — it  drives  me  mad'  It  makes  me  utterly  miserable! 
(throws  himself  into  "  chair,  i,.  of  table,  r;.  c.) 

St  z.  Look  up,  my  poor  friend  !  Now,  how  can  you  ruin  all  your 
happiness  thus,  when  you  have  a  charming  wife  who  thinks  of  no- 
body hut  you  —lives  for  noliody  hut  you'.' 

BARON.  1  know  it,  Suzanne — I  know  it — and  I  am  calm  now — quite 
calm —hut  should  anything  again  ever  cause  me  to  suspect- [see- 
ing Louise's  shawl,  and  darting  on  it)  My  wife's  shawl  !     Ah!  you 

see  die  has  been  here  !   (  riSt  S  ) 
SUZ.    Well  — what  of  t  he  shawl  V 

Baron.  Who  put  it  there? 

Suz.    I  did — 1  took  up  the  first  that  came  to  hand. 

BARON.  I  don't  believe  you.  My  wife's  shawl  is  here— then  she's 
not  gone — she's  still  concealed  here — and  I  swear  that  if  I  find  her 
(crosses  to  x,. ,  t<>  take,  up  his  gun.) 

Suz.    Baron  !  Baron  !  I  beg  of  you 

Baron  (searching  in  spite  of  her).  Leave  me  ' 

Suz.  (trying  t<>  xt"/i  him).   Hear  me  !  hear  me  ! 

Baron  (finding  th  door,  R.).  Ah!  there's  a  door  here  !  (Suzanne 
springs  between  him  a>d  (he  door)  She  is  concealed  in  that  man's 
room.  Let  me  go — by  heaven,  I'll  have  his  life  !  (menacing  with  his 
(run.) 

Suz.  For  my  sake 


ACT  n.  ]  A   SCRAP   OF   PAPER.  27 

Baron.  For  your  sake? 

Suz.  (icith  feverish  haute,  as  if  regardless  of  •chatslu  is  saying  .  Yea 
— for  mine  !  you  drive  me  to  this  confession  by  your  violence.  What! 
were  you  so  blind?  Did  not  my  embarrassment — my  agitation — at 
once  reveal  the  truth  ?  1  didn't  open  the  door  at  once,  tis  true,  be- 
cause I  was  afraid  of  being  found  here  Your  dog  evidently  recognized 
your  wife's  shawl  which  I  wore  Don't  yon  see?  Louise  refused 
her  sister's  hand  to  Prosper,  because  she  knew  I  loved  him  years  ago 
— don't  you  see?  Prosper  imagined  I  had  deceived  him,  and  so 
wanted  to  marry  another,  in  order  to  revenge  himself  on  me — don't 
you  see?  When  Louise  spoke  low  to  him  it  was  to  justify  me,  and 
prevent  this  detested  marriage,  which  1  was  resolved  never  should 
take  place — don't  you  see  ?  don't  you  see  ? 

BARON  (l. ).  Yes,  yes,  1  remember  now.  lie  spoke  this  morning 
of  some  heartless  treachery  on  the  part  of  a  woman 

Si:z.  He  meant  me — I  was  the  heartless  treachery  !  (sighing)  But 
it  was  all  a  mistake — a  misunderstanding. 

Baron.  Why  not  tell  me  this  at  once? 

Suz.  Can  you  ask  the  question?  What  woman  would  willingly 
confess  the  weakness  of  her  heart  And  then  you  were  so  violent.. 
and  made  such  an  awful  noise — you  don't  know  what  a  noise  you  do 
make.  And  I  was  so  frightened,  and — so  out  it  came — I  don't  know 
how — and— don  t  you  see  !  don't  you  see  ?  (asidt  )  I  don't  know  what 
on  earth  I  am  talking  about 

Baron.  Be  calm,  my  dear  Suzanne — no  one  shall  ever  learn  this 
secret  from  me.  But  I'll  not  allow  this  man  to  trifle  with  your  feel- 
ings in  this  manner— I'll  see  him  at  once 

Suz.   See  him — what  for? 

Baron.  What  for?  Why,  to  tell  him  the  state  of  affairs  between 
you,  make  him  withdraw  his  pretensions  to  the  hand  of  Mathilde. 
and — and 

Suz.    And   what? 

Baron.   What  ?  why,  marry  you  to  be  sure  ! 

Suz.  (aside).  Good  heavens!   1  didn't  take  that  into  my  reckoning. 

Baron.  Yes,  yes  ;  I'll  see  the  fellow — speak  out  my  mind  at  once. 

Suz.  What  are  you  thinking  of,  my  dear  friend  '  Let  me  see  him 
first — endeavor  to  lure  him  back  myself.  You  would  not  deprive  a 
woman  of  her  dearest  privilege— would  you,  cousin  ? 

Baron.  As  you  will,  [going  on  with  volubility ,  spite  of  the  efforts  of 
Suzanne  to  speak)  Marry  you  he  shall — dead  or  alive  '  I  won't  have 
him  play  fast  and  loose  with  cousin  Suzanne — that  I  won't.  I  owe 
him  a  grudge  for  making  me  suspect  Louise — my  own  dear  good 
Louise.  (bursts  out  laughing)  Good  heavens!  what  a  fool  a  man 
makes  of  himself  sometimes  !  But  he  shall  pay  for  it — he  shall 
marry  you  as  a  punishment — no,  I  don't  mean  that — but  marry  you 
he  shall  !  (taking  iij/  his  gun)  Xow,  then,  to  bring  down  my  man! 
amicably — I  mean  amicably  !  {patting  his  gun  I  Old  trusty,  here  is  foi 
the  partridges — so  ho.  Fidele  !  and  off  we  go  ! 

Suz.  (aside)    Now  the  popular  opinion  is,  that  man  can't  talk. 

Baron  (turning  ath.  door).   Not  a  word  to  Louise  ! 

Suz.  She  shall  not  know  more  about  the  affair  than  she  knows  8t 
this  moment — I  give  you  my  word. 

Baron.  I  would  not  have  her  know  for  the  world. 

[Exit,  l.  door. 

Re-enter  Louise,  r.  door. 


28  \    SCRAP   OF   PAPER.  fiCT  n. 

Louise  [throufing  herself into  tin  arms  of  Suzanne),  <h.  Suzanne 
my  dear,  kind  friend,  blessings  on  you— yon  have  saved  mi  '. 

Suz.  Yes.  but  I've  liisi  myself  ' 

!  iOUISE.   Whal  do  you  mean  ? 

Siz.  Simply,  thai  hn  wants  me  to  marry  this  man.  You  knew 
thai  will  never  do — I  should  inevitably  have  to  play  the  "  Bride  of 
Lammermoor  "  with  him  and  tinisli  him  off  on  the  wedding-eve. 

Louise.  Hut  think — should  my  husband  see  him  and  speak  to 
him,  ud  might  still  come  out.     He  must  go  away  at  once. 

Si/.  Go  he  shall!  But  now  he  off  yourself  !  STour  husband  might 
return  home;  and  you  must  he  there  before  him. 

Lou.se    Bui  1  should  like  to  see  that  letter  burnt,  (crosses  t<<  i.. ) 

Si  /..    Don't  lose  a  moment,  I  entreat  you  ! 

Lou  HE    takinguphei  shawl).   But  should  I  he  seen 

Si  z.  {opening  door,  c).  Go  this  way,  the  coast  is  clear. 

Lot  i  }E.    1  will. 

Suz.    seizing  'her  shawl).    But  leave  your  shawl,  silly  creature. 

Lou.se  [throwing  it  \o  Suzanne).  Fes,  of  course,  I  shall  fly 
home  I  lira  bird  ;  my  heart  is  lighter  now.  [Exit,  C   door. 

Si  /.  [taking  tin  letter  out  of  hi  r  pocfa  t).   It's  no  such  difficult  mat- 
ter to  I  arn  the   letter      But  how  to  get  him  to  go  is  quite  another 
affair;  he  won  t  budge  if   he  can  help  it.  [looking  at  tin  ctoek)  There 
is  still  time  for  him  to  pack  up  and  get  off  by  the  nine  o'clock  train. 
[she  begins  crumpling  the  letter  in  order  to  throw  it  into  the  fin  )  If   I 
could  I  ut  contrive  to  get  him  away  !  [just  about  to  put  tin  %  tt,  r  into 
the  fire)  No — not  the  envelope — 1  have  no  right  to  that,  [site  takes 
tin  paper  out  of  the  envelope)  But  1  must  put  something  in  the  place 
of  our  precious  prize — any  scrap  of  paper  will  do.  [she  takes  up  a 
piece  of  paper  from  the  table,  folds  it,  and  puts  it  in  tin   envelope) 
And   tow  we'll    return    "Monsieur  the  Rev.   Mr.  Huggins'    to  the 
Sandwich  Islands,  in  the  midst  of  the  tobacco.     Everything  hack  to 
its  place,  [she  puts  back  into  tin  jar  tin  letters,  etc.,  she  had  previ- 
ously taken  out  of  it,  stirs  them  up,  shakes  the  jar  and  sets  it  doion  in 
its  place)  Then — now  forthe  fatal  billet  doux  J  [approaches  the  fire- 
place) 'Tis  a  great   pity — for  I  had  such  a  fancy  [lighting  tin   paper) 
for  making  him   burn  it  himself,  [pulling  back  tin   pa/per,  which  is 
alight,  and   blowing  it  out)  Burn   it  himself— yes  !  what  was  it  he 
swore  !    "  I  give  you  my  word  of  honor,  that  if  you   manage  to  make 
me  burn  the  letter  myself  1  will  pack  myself  off  this  very  evening  to 
look  out    fur  a  wife  in  the  Cannibal    Islands — or  Jericho — or  where 
you  will  "      He  gave  me  his  word  of  honor.      Wi's  an  oddity  ;   hut  he 
would  keep  his  word,  I  am  sure  he  would.      I  like  the  looks  id'    him. 
Would  it  be  then  such  a  very  difficult    task  to  make   him   burn  the 
letter?      Let's  see — let's    see —  shelooksintO    tin'  fireplace)   suppose    I 
place  it  on  the  hearth,  near  the  fire    [she  tiriMs    tin  paper  up)  That's 
it — it  looks  exactly  as  if  he  had  already  lighted   a  cigar   with   it.  (she 
comes  away  from  the  fin-  and  looks  around)  It's  really  getting  quite 
exciting!     How   it  would  amuse  me  to  make  him   burn   it  himself  1 
[listening]    Some  one    is  coming   up   stairs.      It's   he.    probably.      Oh 
--there    mustn't    lie    matches      about'    {hastily     throirs     tin-    matches 

into  the  fire)  That  will  do.  [she  sits  down  in  a/rm-chair,  i..  of  table — a 
gentle  knock,  C.  door).  Oh,  yes — knock  away  !   I'm   not  going  to  hear 

Mill 

Enter  PROSPER,  quietly,  v.  door — he  looks   round  for  SUZANNE,  and 
aeeini/  her  lying  back  in  the  arm-chair  approaches  her  on  tiptoe. 


ACT  II.]  A   SCRAP   OF    PAPER.  29 

Prosp.  Asleep  !  overcome  with  fatigue  and  utterly  discouraged. 
(looking  round  him)  She  has  been  turning  everything  topsy-turvey. 
{looks  into  room.  R  ,  and  laughs)  Yes.  and  there  too  !  Now  for  the 
letter  !  Can  she  have  found  it  V  (Suzanne  follows  him  with  the  corners 
of  her  eyes,  while  he  opens  the  tobacco  jar  and  sees  the  envelope)  No, 
all  safe.  Come,  woman's  cunning  has  been  baffled  for  once,  (sits 
down,  L.  of  table  and  looks  nt  Suzanne)  1  am  sorry  for  her.  (looking 
more  nearly)  She  is  really  a  very  nice  woman — pretty  hand — good 
eyes  too — -I  really  must  have  another  look  at  her  eyes,  {getting  op  and 
bending  over  her. ) 

Suz.  (opening  her  eyes  wide.,  and  looking  at  him).  What  did  you 
say? 

PROSP.  (staggering  back). .  Knocked  clean  over  ! 

Suz.  (pretending  to  awake).  Oh  !  1  beg  your  pardon,  1  believe  I 
must  have  dropped  asleep. 

Prosp.   Pray  consider  yourself  at  home. 

Suz.  (rising).   What  o'clock  is  it  ? 

Prosp.  (going  to  the  clock  on  the  mantel- piece  I.   Past  six. 

Suz.  So  late  !  Well,  I  can't  help  it -I  won't  give  up  my  purpose  ; 
and  here  I  shall  remain  at  my  post,  till  that  purpose  is  accomplished. 

Prosp.  Allow  me  to  admire  your  obstinacy.  It  is  the  most  heroic 
piece  of  chivalry  I  have  ever  seen 

Suz.  Obstinacy  !  you  are  not  gallant. 

Prosp.   Well,  let  us  say  firmness. 

Suz,   Yes  ;  firmness  in  a  woman — obstinacy  in  a  man. 

Prosp.  Now,  take  care,  you  are  pitting  yourself  against  a  man 
who  has  fought  with  Red  Indians,  and  won  his  tomahawk  on  the 
field.  I  have  been  dubbed  a  great  chief  myself,  and  it  would  be  no 
mean  glory  to  carry  off  my  scalp,  (it  gets  gradually  dusk.) 

Suz.  But  great  chief,  spite  of  the  intense  satisfaction  I  should  na- 
turally have  in  scalping  you,  I  have  better  motives  than  the  desire  of 
obtaining  such  questionable  glory.  But  please  light  your  lamp — it  is 
getting  quite  dark. 

Prosp.  Immediately,  {takes  off'  the  globe  of  the  lamp  on  the  table 
and  looks  at  it)  There  !  that  fool  of  a  servant  has  put  no  wick  in  the 
lam]),  (he  rings.) 

Srz.   Then  light  a  candle — it  will  he  much  handier. 

Prosp.  You  are  right,  (hunting  about  for  matches)  Of  course, 
there  may  exist  women  who— now  there's  not  a  match  to  be  found 
anywhere. 

Suz.  Then  take  a  piece  of  paper,  my  dear  sir. 

Prosp.  (seeing  the  piece  of  paper  on  the  hearth).  Ah!  this  will  do. 
(picks  up  paper)  There  may  exist  women,  certainly,  who  are  so  far 
traitors  to  their  nature  as  to (lie  lights  the  paper.) 

Enter  Francois,  c.  door,  uith  a  lighted  lamp. 

FRANCOIS.   Did  you  ring  for  the  lamp,  sir? 

Prosp.  (blowing  out  the  paper  and  still  holding  it  in  his  hand  .  Yes 
— that  will  do — put  it  down  there. 

Suz.  (aside).  Was  ever  anything  so  provoking  !  Another  minute, 
and  he  would  have  done  it.  (Francois  has  put  the  lamp  ox,  the  table, 
R.  C. ,  and  exit,  c.  door.) 

Prosp.  As  I  said,  there  may  be  women  who — in  short— upon  my 
word,  I  don't  know.  now.  what  I  was  icoinu:  to  say. 

Suz  You  were  going  to  say  probably,  that  there  may  be  women 
who  would  do  and  sacrifice  much  for  the  peace  of  mind  of  a  friend. 


50  A    SCRAP    OF    PAPER.  [ACT  II. 

Prosp.  {seated  t..  of  table,  holding  the  paper).  A  friend  :  a  friend  ! 
Have  women  female  friends?  {aside)  She  looks  better  still  by  Lamp- 
light. 

Si  z.    Sou  don'1  believe  in  friendship. 

Pkosp.  In  thai  respecl  I  have  not  a  mucb  better  opinion  of  our 
own  sex  than  of  yours,  {aside)  1  can't  help  being  fascinated  by  her 
more  and  more. 

Suz.  [taking  tin  envelopt  and  false  letter  from  tin  jar  mechanically, 
and  playing  with  it  while  Prosper  shows  his  agitation).  Conic  that's 
something.  You  have  generally  so  marvellous  an  opinion  of  your 
own  superiority 

Prosp.  {laughing  at  seeing  the  letter  in  her  hand  and  shaking  tin 
paper  hi  holds).  We  certainly  sometimes  fancy  we  sec  more  clearly 
than  yoursex.  {laughing— aside)  She  little  knows  she's  got  the  letter. 
(aloud)  Well,  if  I  bean  egotist,  I  have  never  found  out  altera  life's 
experience,  what  I  gained  bj  doing  good  toothers. 

Suz.  (throioing  back  the  e?ivelopi  intothejar).  Gained  ! — the  pleasure 
of  doing  if.  Does  that  count  for  nothing?  .Mi  !  if  you  knew  how 
bright  the  world  would  look  to  you  under  consciousness  of  having 
done  good — if  you  knew  with  'now-  light  a  In-art  you  would  sleep  at 
uight — with  how  cheery  a  spirit  you  would  raise  your  head  from 
your  pillow  in  the  morning,  you  would  never  ask  again,  what  you 
would  gain 

Prosp.  {surpi'ised  and  pleased).   Perhaps — I  don't  know. 

Suz.    Exactly.      You  don't  know. 

PROSP.  {asidt  I.  What  a  smile  the  woman  has!  and  what  a  heart  ! 
{lets  fall  the  letter  on  tin  carpet.) 

Suz.  {aside)  Suppose  I  put  out  the  lamp  ;  he  must  light  it  again. 
i  slu  hi  (jinx  turniug  the  lamp  "/<  and  down  ) 

PrOSP.  {with  enthusiasm  .  Ah,  my  dear  madam  if  it  were  true. 
I  >oes  the  lamp  smoke  '.' 

SUZ.    It  does  a  little,  {puts  it  out)  There — I've  put  it  out. 

Prosp.  {asidt  ).  So  much  the  better.  (<i!<m<h  Ah.  if  it  were  true 
that  your  heart  alone  prompted  you  to  give  me  battle,  my  admiration 
for  your  courage  would  give  place  to  a  far  warmer  feeling.  I  don't 
exactly  know  why,  but  it  is  a  fact,  of  all  the  women  I  have  ever 
seen  yon  are  the  only  woman  who  is  a  real   woman. 

Suz.  A  very  pretty  declaration,  upon  my  word — only  a  little  ob- 
scure.     Perhaps  it  would  he  clearer  if  yon  lighted  your  lamp 

Prosp.  {approaching  her).  Ah,  the  fitful  flicker  of  the  cosy  fire  on 
the  hearth  is  better  suited  to  whal  I  would  say. 

St  /.     Light  the  lamp,  sir  !  or  you'll  force  me  to  go  at  once. 

Prosp.   Hut  I've  got  no  matches. 

SUZ.    Will  you  light  the  lamp,  sir'.' 

Prosp.    I  declare  to  you 

Suz.    I'll  hear  no  declaration  till  you  light  the  lamp. 

PR08P.  I  dare  say  you  think-  I  am  mad  !  I  am  not.  Perhaps  it  was 
the  most  sensible  thing  I  could  do  to  fall  in  love  with  the  goddaugh- 
ter tliis  morning,  and  the  godmother  this  evening. 

Si  /..    Since  you  drive  me  away,  sir    {going  "/».  i 

Prosp.  Don'1  go — don't  go— don't  leave  your  purpose  unaccom- 
plished. You  have  made  me  believe  in  the  existence  <d'  a  woman's 
heart  that  can  heat  with  kindliness  and  purity.  Let  me  prove  my- 
self worthy  of  that  heart  Sec  !— here  is  the  letter'  {takes  envelope 
fromjar)  I  yield — I  burn  it  before  yourown  eyes.  \/h  r<>>rx  tin  inn  !<,pr 
into  tin  fin    I 

St  /.  {asidt  |.   Now  I  could  positively  hug  the  man  for  that  ! 


ACT  III.]  A    SCRAP    OF    TAPER.  31 

Prosp    (taking  up  the  burning  envelope  with  tongs).  Look,  madam, 

it  burns— it  burns. 

Srz  I  haven't  the  heart  to  send  him  away  now.  I  must  confess 
ail 

Prosp    Shall  I  lay  down  the  ashes  at  your  feet. 

Suz.  (laughingly).  Are  you  quite  sure  you  have  burned  the  right 
thing? 

Prosp.  Can  you  doubt  ? 

Suz.  Your  good  faith  ? — oh,  no  !  But  pick  up  that  little  scrap  oi 
paper  you  had  in  your  hand  just  now. 

Prosp.  (hunting  on  the  carpet).  That  little  scrap  of  paper  I  What 
do  you  mean  ? 

Suz.  (pointing  it  out  laughing).  There  it  is  ! 

Prosp.  (picking  it  up  with  surprist ).  Well,  and  what  then  ? 

Scz.   (listening).   Hush:   what's  that  1  hear? 

Prosp.  (going  to  window).  The  barking  of  dogs  !  (looks  out)  Brise- 
mouche  and  the  Baron  are,  coming  towards  the  house. 

Srz.  And  they  may  come  upstairs  !  Give  me  that  scrap  of  papt-r, 
quick  ! 

Prosp.  This  darkness  is  rather  awkward — I  understand.  I'll  light 
the  candle  at  once,  (he  lights  tht  paper  ) 

Baron    (without,  bensath  the  window).  Here,  Fidele  ! 

Srz.  (aside).  It  was  fated  that  he  should  burn  the  paper  after  all  ! 
(Prosper  lights  the  candle  with  tJiebumdng  paper,  and  throws  it  out 
of  the  window)  Oh,  what  have  you  done? 

Baron  (as  before).  Holloa  !  Do  you  mean  to  set  the  house  on 
fire? 

Prosp.  (at  windowlooking  out).   Some  one  is  picking  it  up  ! 

Srz.   The  Baron  !     Oh,  we're  lost  ! 

Prosp.   What  do  you  mean  ? 

Srz.   That  was  the  very  letter  ! 

Prosp.  (bewildered).  That  scrap  of  paper — the  letter? 

Srz.  The  very  letter  !  Run  ! — quick  ! — get  it  back  !  Why  don't 
you  run '! 

Prosp  (losing  his  head,  and  running  to  the  window).  lam  run- 
ning 

Srz.   Not  by  the  window,  man — by  the  door  ! 

Prosp    {running  to  door,  L.).   Yes,  to  be  sure  ! 

Suz.    Not  that  way  ' 

Prosp.  No,  no,  of  course  not  !  (runs  to  dour,  c,  throwing  down  all 
/he  furniture  in  his  /ray.) 

Stz.  You'll  find  me  at  the  chateau  in  the  conservatory  ! 

Prosp.   I'll  have  it,  dead  or  alive  !  [Runs  out,  <  .  door. 

Suz.  That  comes  of  being  too  clever  by  half  ! 

[Exit,  rapidly,  i  .  door. 

CURTAIN. 


ACT  III. 

SCENE  —J.  Conservatory  attached  to  the  Chateau. 

M   -»ame  Dupont.  l.  c.  is  taking  fruit  from  a  basket,  which  she  peaces 
■in  a  tray,  and  hands  over  to  PAULINE. 

Ma_>   I>.   There,  you  have  the  fruit.  [Exit  Pauline,  r.  2  E. 


82  A   SCRAP    OF    PAPBK,  [ACT  in. 

Enter  Baptists,  i.. 

So  you  are  ba.  ^  from  accompanying  the  Baron  om  shooting. 

Bap.  Sfes  I've  jusl  had  time  to  make  myself  genteel.  The 
gentlemen  will  be  here  directly,  and  clamoring  for  their  dinner.  So, 
stir  your  stumps,  old  girl,   {crosses  to  u.  door.) 

M'\n    D.  Old  girl,  indeed  ! 

Enter  Brisemouche,  c   door,      //<    is  still  in  his  shooting-coat,  and 
has  his  g an,  with  n  littl    sen  wed  up  pap*  r  stuck  in  it. 

BRISK,  (r.).  Ah,  Dupont,  there  you  arc  !  Is  dinner  ready?  1 
want  m\  dinner  awfully  |  There  is  no  time  to  go  home,  and  dress 
for  dinner ;  .>ut  I  know  Madam  •  de  la  Gflaciere  will  excise  me  ;  and 
I  am  dreadfully  tired  with  my  day's  sport, 

Mad,  l>.  (i.  ).  You  have  bagged  a  great  deal  of  game,  1  suppose, 
sir'.' 

Bitisi<;  Game  ? — well,  not  exactly:  not  l>u,  that  I'm  a  good  shot, 
when  I  choose  — a  very  good  shot.  However,  I've  brought  home  a 
prize. 

Mad   I).  A  fine  bird  ' 

BRISE.  No,  not  exactly,  -hist  as  i  was  about  to  bring  down  a  par- 
tridge— sure,  this  time — I  spied,  trotting  along  to  his  nocturnal  lair, 
a  tiger 

MAD    l>.    A  tiger!  good  gracious  ! 

BRISE.  Yes— a  tiger  ! — a  gold-winged  tiger — a  tiger  beetle  !  the 
most  beautiful  specimen.  With  one  eye  on  the  partridge,  and  the 
other  on  the  be, 'tie  I  missed  the  partridge  ;  but  I  bagged  my  beetle; 
and  here  he  is.  (shows  the  screw  of  pap  rinhisgun)  Don't  touch  the 
precious  creature  for  the  Life  of  you,  woman!  But  how  about  the 
dinner '.' 

Mad    l>    it  is  not  ready  yet  ;  but  the  Baron  is  just  returned. 

Bkisk.  Yes  yes;  he  left  me  under  Couramont's  window  While 
dinner  is  getting  ready,  I  should  like  to  put  myself  to  rights  a  little. 

B.u\  (advancing).   If  you  will  walk  this  way,  sir. 

[  Exit,  l.  door. 

BRIBE.  A  pretty  mess  my  tiger  hunt  has  put  my  hands  in.  (turning 
it  door)   Has  my  sister  come  yet  7 

M  \i>     1>     I  have  not  seen  her,  sir 

Brisk.  She's  still  at  her  toilet  ;  she  is  so  very  particular  ahout  her 
toilet      She  has  so  much  decency  and  decorum.  |  Exit,  L.  door. 

Pauline  has  entered  during  this,  from  doom. 

Paul.  Well,  for  my  pari  I  think  if  that  Mademoiselle Zenohie  had 
so  much  decency  and  decorum,  she  might  just  show  them  by  not 
trotting  after  that  youmj  Monsieur  Anatole. 

Mux  I>  Hold  your  tongue.  1  won't  have  any  scandal  -mongering ; 
a  i  I  don'l  Stan  1  idling  there  !      The  company  will  take  coffee  here. 

PAUL.  You  needn't  stare  at  me,  madam — I'm  off  !  I'm  iroing  to 
change  my  handkerchief  (crosses  t"  i..  This  is  a  shockingly  unbe- 
coming one      makes  one  look  like  a  common  housemaid. 

[  Exit,  L.  dour. 

Mad  IV  Yes;  that's  all  one  sees  now-a-days — an  affected  creature 
that  cin't  stitch  a  hem.  but  wan's  an  hour  every  day  for  her  piano! 
Good  lord  '   what  will  the  world  come  to  next  ? 

{Exit  into  dining-room,  R.  door. 


ACT  III.  J  A   SC  -    r    *F  PAPER.  c»5 

Enter  Prosper  Couramont,  c.  d.,  agitated,  and  out  of  breath. 

1'ROSP.   In  the  conservatory,  she  said 

Enter  Suzanne,  l.,  in  dgitaiion. 

SUZ.  You've  got  it  ? 
Prosp.  Haven't  vou  ? 
Suz.   No. 

Prosp.    \  (in  despair)-  ol1  ! 

Suz.   What  have  you  been  doing ? 

Prosp.  I  rushed  down  stairs — 1  don't  know  how — heels  over  head ! 
When  I  got  out  of  the  house — no  one — nothing — not  a  ghost  of  a 
scrap  of  paper.  '  Now,  one  of  two  things  must  have  happened/' 
said  I  ;  "  either  the  Baron  stamped  on  the  paper,  to  put  it  out,  or 
picked  it  up  to  see  that  it  was  extinguished.  But,  as  the  paper  was 
no  longer  there,  it  is  most  probable  he  flung  it  aside,  as  he  walked 
along.  Suppose,  then,  I  follow  his  trail,  and  hunt  on  the  ground?  " 
So  I  followed  his  trail,  and  hunted 

Suz.   But  you  found  nothing  ? 

Prosp.   Absolutely  nothing. 

Suz.    Perhaps  the  wind  has  wafted  it  away. 

Prosp.  But  there  isn't  a  'breath  of  air.  (sitting  down  in  despair") 
Then  I've  all  to  begin  over  again,  to-morrow  morning. 

Suz.   What  do  you  mean  by  to-morrow  morning ?— directly. 

Prosp.  {shivering').   Without  an  overcoat? 

Suz.  Would  you  leave  some  one  else  to  pick  it  up,  and  bring  it  to 
the  Baron  ?     Go  at  once. 

Frosp.  (buttoning  up  his  coat,  and  shivering).  Well,  I'm  going. 
Burr,  burr  ! 

Suz.  Poor  fellow  !  here,  take  this  shawl,  (throws  Louise's  shawl 
about  him.) 

Prosp.  No,  no — I  really  can't. 

Suz.   But  I  say  you  must. 

Prosp.  (while  Suzanne  wraps  him  up  in  the  shawl).  You  do  with 
mo  what  you  will.  I'm  caught — bandaged  ;  and  (she  puts  the  shawl 
over  his  mouth)  muzzled  ! 

Suz.  Now  go,  quick — I  implore  you  ! 

Prosp.  I  go  !  ( with  thick  voice)  'muzzled — positively  muzzled  !  (runs 
out  C.  door. ) 

Suz  Here  have  I  been,  ever  since  morning,  running  up  and  down, 
round  and  round,  like  a  squirrel  in  his  cage — worrying  myself  to 
death,  all  about  a  stupid  little  scrap  of  paper,  and  a  tiresome  man — 
hang  him  !  I'm  so  provoked  with  him,  that  I  could — poor  fellow  ! 
— I'm  sure,  he's  giving  himself  trouble  enough  to  undo  all  the  mis- 
chief he  has  done !  I  can't  be  angry  with  him  !  But  I  am  all  the 
more  enraged  with  the  silly  folks  who  are  idiotic  enough  to  write  in- 
sane love-letters!  "  I  love  you — I  love  you!  "is  all  very  pretty  to 
say  ;  but  it  isn't  the  thing  to  write  ! — and  looks  so  cold  on  paper. 
I'm  sure,  if  I  were  to  send  all  the  loves  in  the  world  in  a  letter  to  any 
one — this  Monsieur  Prosper,  for  instance — they  wouldn't  call  up  one 
flush  of  color  in  his  face.  Holloa  !  what's  this?  They  seem  to  have 
called  one  up  in  mine,  though.  Oh,  come,  come  ;  I'm  not  going  to 
b^  en  absurd,  I  hope,  as  to  allow  myself  to  be  thinking  about  this 
good  gentleman — pooh,  pooh  ! — this  will  never  do,  Mademoiselle 
Suzanne  !  Mademoiselle  Suzanne,  I  must  have  an  eye  upon  you.  and 
see  what  you  are  about,  Mademoiselle 


84  A  SCRAP  OF  PAPEB.  [ACT  111 

h'.nd  r  Mathllde,  i..  door. 

Math.  (l.).  Ah,  godmother,  there  you  arc !  Have  you  Been 
Anatole'.' 

Suz.  r.,  aside).  Poor  child,  she  isn't  troubled  with  any  scruples. 
(aloud)  NO.  my  dear — have  you  seen  the  Baron? 

Math.  No;  but  1  hoard  him  stumping  up  and  down  in  his  room 
like  a  wild  beast  in  his  den. 

Suz.  (alarmed).  Has  he  discovered  the  truth  then? 

EnU  r  Baptiste,  l.,  crosses  to  r.  at  back. 

[seeing  him)  Ah,  Baptiste  was  with  the  shooting  party — he  may  have 
seen  what  passed,  (to  Baptiste,  who  is  going  out,  R.  2  E.)  Baptiste, 
a  word   with  you.      Mathilde,   dear,  do  you    think    dinner   is  getting 

ready  ? 

Math.  I'll  go  and  see.  |  Exit  into  dining  room. 

Suz.  (l.).  Baptiste,  you  accompanied  the  gentlemen  out  shooting? 

Bap.   (p.).    Yes,  my  lady. 

SlTZ.  You  were  with  them  when  a  lighted  paper  was  tiling  out  of 
a  window  of  Monsieur  Brisemouche's  house? 

Bap.  A  lighted  paper  v    Oh,  yes,  1  recollect  ! 

Suz.    Who  picked  it  up  ? 

Bap.   Really,  I  can't  tax  my  memory,  my  lady. 

Suz.   Think — was  it  the   Baron? 

Bap.  My  master  ?     1  fancy  it  was 

Suz.  It  was  ? 

Bap.  I  don't  exactly  remember 

Suz.  (aside).  The  man  will  drive  me  mad  ' 

Bap    Oh  no,  I  recollect,  /picked  it  up 

Suz.  You  !     What  did  you  do  with  it  ? 

Bap.  I  believe  I  flung  it  away — no,  I  didn't- 

Suz.   Then  you've  got  it? 

Bap.  No,  I  haven't,  my  lady.  Ah  !  I  know  now — t  handed  it  to 
Monsieur  Brisemouche,  who  asked  me  for  it.  (ANA-fOi-iS  appears,  v. 
door,  on  seeing  the  others,  conceals  himself.) 

Suz.   You  gave  it  to  Monsieur  Brisemouche '? 

Bap.   No,  I  didn't,  my  lady 

Suz.  Grant  me  patience  !     You  said 

Bap.   He  took.it  out  of  my  hand. 

Suz.  (aside).  Brisemouche  has  it — unlucky  chance! — there  is  no 
♦rusting  such  a  man.   (aloud)  Do  you  know  where  he  is? 

Bap.  He  was  there  just  now,  my  lady — I  will  call  him  !  (crosses 
;o  l.) 

Suz.  No.  no,  don't  call  him — no  noise — let  him  know  I  want  to  see 
him.  [Exit  Baptiste  l.  door. 

I  must  get  it  from  him  without  awakening  his  suspicions.  I  am  on 
burning  coals,  and  cannot  control  my  impatience  !  I'll  watch  for  him 
in  the  hall !  [  Exit,  L.  door. 

Anatole  comes  forward. 

Anat.  They  are  gone — I  think  I  may  venture 

Enter  Madame  Dupont,  from  dining-room,  R.  door. 

Dt  r.    Bless  my  heart  !     Monsieur  Anatole  ! 


ACT  III. 


A   SCKAP   OF   PAPER.  35 


Axat.   Hush,  hush,  not  a  word  ! 

.Mad.  P.  (low).  Mademoiselle  Zenobie  let  nie  know  you  wouldn't 
dine  here. 

Axat.  (sorrowfully).  Yes  ;  she  packed  me  off  to  my  tutor's  in  the, 
market  cart,  and  told  old  Jean  to  keep  an  eye  on  me.  But  I  per- 
suaded him  to  get  down  for  a  glass  of  brandy — jumped  out  of  the 
cart— and  here  I  am. 

Mad.  D.   And  now  you  are  here,  what  do  you  mean  to  do  here? 

A  nat.  Why — see  lier — tell  her  I  love  her— love  her  a  thousand 
times  more  than  ever.  I  mean  to  hide  here  in  the  conservatory, 
where  there,  will  be  no  Zenobie  at  my  heels.  But,  first  of  all.  I 
must  write  to  Mademoiselle  Mathilde.  (  feeling  in  his  pocket*)  Now 
there,  I've  lost  my  pocketbook  !  But  here's  the  pencil  !  Give  me  a 
sera])  of  paper — any  scrap  of  paper 

Mad.  D.  Yes,  I  daresay,  and  I  suppose  you'll  want  me  to  carry 
your  letter  next  V 

Anat.   Of  course,  you  won't  refuse  me? 

Mad.    D.  Of   course   I  shall!      Well,    I   never !— the  impudence. 
aside)  I'd  better  go  or  he  would  wheedle  me  over  in  no  time — the 
little  rascal  !  {Exit  into  dining-room,  R. 

Anat.  What  am  I  to  do  now?  I  can't  write  without  paper — oh 
bother  !  (sits  down  in  despair  on  bench,  \..,just  opposite  Brisemouche's 
gun)  What's  this? — a  paper  screwed  up.  (takes  the  horn  of  the  paper 
out  of  the  gun  and  shakes  it)  There's  something  inside,  (opens  it) 
Oh,  hid,  a  beetle! — one  of  my  guardian's  treasures.  Well,  what 
matter  to  him,  a  beetle  more  or  less?  He'll  think  he  lost  it  as  he 
came  along,  (shah  8  out  the  beetle)  Poor  thing,  it  little  dreams  it  owes 
its  life  to  the  power  of  love,  (tears  burnt  end  from  paper)  There,  it 
looks  better  with  that  ragged  edge  torn  off — there's  writing  on  it — 
never  mind,  there's  one  side  clean,  that  will  do.  (writes)  '  They 
wanted  to  send  me  away,  but  I  have  returned.  They  say  I  must 
complete  my  studies — but  my  only  study  henceforth  will  be  to  make 
you  happy,  by  becoming  your  husband.  I  have  hidden  myself  in  the 
conservatory — for  ever  and  ever  your  " 

Brisk,  (without  L.).  The  paper,  the  paper,  what  do  you  mean? 
(  Anatole  springs  in  among  the  bushes,  c.  l.,  rind  hides.) 

Enter  BRisEMOtrcHE./oKowed  by  Suzanne,  e. 

Brise.  (R.,  aloud).  What  is  all  this  about  a  paper?  I  haven't  the 
slightest  comprehension  of  what  you  mean  ! 

Suz.   (L.1.   For  heaven's  sake,  don't  talk  so  loud  ! 

Brisk.   But  what  paper  ? 

Srz.  A  scrap  of  paper,  set  <>n  fire  and  thrown  out  of  Monsieur 
Prospers  window,  to  be  sure  ! 

Brise.  Oh  !  the  scrap  of  paper  set  on  fire  and— then  why  didn't 
you  say  so  at  once  '! 

Suz.  At  all  events,  I  say  so  now.  But  where  is  it? — where  is  it? 
— where  is  it? 

Brise.  But,  what  can  you  want  with  only  a  scrap  of  paper — half 
burned,  too — a  little  paltry  scrap  not  worth 

Srz.    'exasperated).  What-did-you-do- with-it '.' 

Brisk.   I  made  a  cage  of  it. 

Srz.   A  cage? 

Brise.  Yes  ;  to  enclose  a  beautiful  specimen  of  the  tiger-beetle, 
which  tickled  the  palm  of  my  hand  so  confoundedly,  kicking  about  in 
it,  that  I 


36  A   SCRAP    OF    PAPER.  f  ACT  Hi. 

Si  z.  But  again — where  is  it  ? 

Brisk.  Oli  !  I  stuck  it  into  my  gun.  {goes  >'j>  and  brings  down  hit 
gun  without  looking  at  it. ) 

Suz.   I  have  it  now  ! 

Brisk.    Why,  it's  no  longer  there?  at  hit  gun.) 

Suz.  No  longer  there  '.' 

Brise.   Clean  gone  ! 

Suz.  {alarmed.  |  Losi  ! 

Brisk.  Oh!  the  little  monster  of  a  beetle  !  He  tnusl  nave  tickled 
iboul  so  much  that  he  rolled  down,  cage  and  all. 

Buz.    Then  it  can't  he  gone  far  ;   let  us  hunt  about  for  it. 

Brisk,  {hunting  among  tlu  plants).  It's  remarkable,  it's  very  re- 
markable how  intelligent  these  little  animals  are.  I'll  write  a  paper 
on  the  subject  for  the  Entomological  Society  of  the  Department— a 
.nost  interesting  paper,  {suddenly)  Oh  !  I've  found  (St  zanne  comet 
(hum,  thinking  //<  has  found  tin  paper)  I've  found  such  a  good  title! 
"The  Insect's  Escape;  or,  The  Hectic's  Bastille."  (Suzanne  turnt 
(iiniji  angrily)  Hey  !  a  capital  title  ! 

Suz.  {hunting  in  ruin).  Nothing — nothing'  hut  have  it  I  must. 
Look  everywhere — look  everywhere!  {seeing  tin  Baron  coming)'So, 
no — don't  look — don't  look  anywhere. 

Brisk.  Eh  !  what  ? 

F.nti  r  Baron  de  la  Glaciere,  Louise,  and  Mademoiselle  Zeno 

hie,  l.  door, 

Baron.   Well,  ain't  we  going  to  dine  to-day? 

Water  Mathilde,  from  dining  room.  R. 

Math.    Yes  ;  dinner  is  all  ready. 

Enter  Baptiste,  from  dining  room,  r. 

Bar.   Dinner  is  on  table,  my  lady. 

Baron.  That's  all  right. 

Louise  (lo/r  to  Suzanne).  Gone  away  :; 

Suz.  abst  nf.  "ml  hunting  after  the  In  <  th  /rid,  In  r  eyes).  Yes,  gone^ 
— entirely  gone  ;  a  tiresome  little  beast  ! 

Lovisk  (surprised).   A.  tiresome  little  beast  ?     Monsieur  Prosper  ? 

Suz.  Monsieur  Prosper!     No — yes!  (aside)  Poor  fellow. 

LOUISE.  Now  he  is  gone,  and  my  letter  burned,  I  breathe  more 
freely,    {got  s  up.) 

Suz.  {asidt }.   Do  you  v  and  I  am  suffocating  ! 

Baron  {looking  at  SUZANNE).  Anxious  and  embarrassed — matters 
are  not  made  up  then.  I  must  take  the  affair  upon  myself,  I  see. 
(off i  rs  his  «riu  to  Suzanne)  Cousin  Suzanne  !  (R.) 

Suz,  {taking  his  arm  mechanically ,  and  looking  back  as  she  follows 
the  party  into  tin  dining-room).  Ah!  thank  you. 

Math,   {to  St  zanne).    Have  you  lost  anything? 

Suz.    Nothing,  only  a  Little  beast  —  I  mean  a  brooch. 

Karon  {stopping).   Here  !  in  the  conservatory  ? 

Si  /..   {eagerly).   Oh,  don't  think  of  looking  for  it — it's  not  worth  the 
trouble.  I    assure  you.   (low  to  Matihi.dk)  Tell   Madame  Dupont  to 
Xrnie  and  speak  t>>  me. 

'  Exit  with  Baron  into  the  dining-room  after  theothers. 


ACT   m.l  A    SCRAP    OF    PAPER.  37 

Math.  I  will,  {apart — going)  And  to  think  of  Anatole  not  coming 
after  all.     Oh,  I'll  give  it  him  when  I  catch  him. 

[Erit  iitt"  dining-room — Anatole  opens  tin  branches  of  tin  plants 

and  ereepsout  or,  all  fours,  his  letti  r  in  Ins  hand. 

Anat.   At  last    I'm    free  again.     And  I  can't  say    1    was  very  com. 

fortahle  in  there,  amidst  a  quantity  of  outlandish  plants  that  scraped 

my  face,  and  poked  my  neck,  and  pricked  my  legs  ;  but  now,  how  to 

send  my  letter  1  i//<  goes  out  and  looks  into  the  park.) 

Enter  Pauline,  l.  door,  with  a  smart  handkerchief. 

Paul.  Come,  I  look  something  like  now.  {'join;/  towards  dining- 
room,  sees  Anatole)  Well,  if  there  isn't  Mademoiselle  Zenobie's 
young  gentleman  ! 

Anat.  (&.,•  turning,  alarmed).  Ah!  pray,  my  good  young  woman, 
don't  tell  anybody  that  you  have  seen  me  here.  Nobody  must  know 
— nobody  ! 

Paul.  (l.  ).  Make  you  mind  easy.  sir.  It's  my  business  to  hold  my 
tongue,  {aside)  When  I'm  not  paid  to  the  contrary. 

Anat.  {aside).  Oh,  perhaps  she  would  take  the  letter — I've  read  of 
such  things  in  novels.      Suppose  I  tried,   {aloud)  Mademoiselle! 

Paul.   Sir  ! 

Anat.  {awkward  and  embarrassed).  You — you — you  are  very 
pretty,  Mademoiselle. 

Paul.   I've  heard  people  say  so,  sir. 

Anat.  {as  before,  with  his  eyes  cast  dowri.  And  people  say  very 
right.     But — but — there's  one  thing  you  haven't  got ! 

Paul,   i  looking  at  him  fixedly).   Not  line  eyes.  I  suppose. 

Anat.  Oh  yes,  you  have  very  fine  eyes — no,  I  mean  a  pair  of  nice 
ear-drops. 

Paul.   So  bribery  and  corruption  is  our  little  game,    inside.) 

Anat.  {aside).  I  hope  she  won't  he  indignant,  and  fly  in  a  passion. 
{very  timidly)  Oh.  if  I  dared  to {slips  </  pursi  in  her  hand.) 

Paul.    Anything  you  please,  sir. 

Anat.  {delighted).  May  I?  Then  just  take  this  letter  for  me,  will 
you  ? 

Pall,  {taking  tin  letter).  I  needn't  ask  who  it's  for.  {laughing, 
emsses  to  R.) 

Anat.  And  you'll  give  it  to  her? 

Paul.   Do  you  think  I  don't  know  my  business? 

Anat.   {enchanted).  Pauline,  1  must  kiss  you  for  that,   {kisses  her.) 

Paul.    I  suppose  I  am  to  keep  that  for  myself,  sir  ! 

[Exit  into  dining-room,  r. 

Anat.  Oh.  I'm  going  it — I  really  am  going  it  ! — running  away — 
hiding  in  secret  places — sending  clandestine  billet  doux — and  kissing 
chambermaids — oh,  it's  just  like  a  novel!  Who's  there? — deuce 
take  him  !  {hides  r.) 

Enter  Prosper  Oouramont.  c.  do<>r.  mmppedin   the  shawl. 

Prosp.  Nothing — I've  got  nothing  but  the  rheumatism,  and  a  per- 
fectly  wolfish  hunger,  {noisi  of  plates  and  glasses  Oh.  yes!  all  the 
others  are  at  dinner,  satisfying  their  vile  appetites  without  me.  Was 
ever  man  in  a  more  ridiculous  position — a  more  ridiculous  attire  '.' 
Prosper,  my  friend,  you  are  a  pretty  fellow,  after  sailing  round  the 
world  in  safety,  to  be  wrecked  all  at  once  on  the  reefs  of  woman's 
wlieedledom  !     This  shawl  is  like  the  shirt  of  Nessus.      It  1'"' 


A    SCRAP    OF    PAPER.  [ACT  TTI. 

to   the   heart's   core;   and  y*t    I   cannot    tear  it   off!     Dear  shawl: 

ami  dearer  owner  of   the  shawl  !  whom  1 — 1 (kisses  tin    shawl) 

There,  don't  mince  the  matter,  idiot  I  it's  no  use — whom  I  love  ; 
whom  I  adore  !  Ton  my  soul,  I  must  adore  her.  if  I  go  raving  up 
and  down  here  all  day  instead  of  getting  my  dinner,    {goes  R.) 

Enter  Madame  Dupont  from  dining-room,  n. 

Mad.  D.   Sir  ! 

PROSP.    Don't   stop   me — I'm  dying  of  hunger!  (MADAME  DUPONT 
ays  hold  of  his  shawl)  Don't  touch  that  shawl   woman  ! 

Mad.  1).    Hut  you  are  Monsieur  Prosper. 

Prosp.  Madame  Dupont  as  befor<  >.  Don't  touch  my  shawl,  I  tell 
you  !  {makes  a  rush  "t  tin  dining-room.) 

Mad  D.   But  Madamoiselle  Suzanne  told  me 

Prosp.  {^returning  eagerly).  Mademoiselle  Suzanne?  What  of  her? 

Mad.  D.  {mysteriously).  She  told  me  to  look  for  you  as  you  came 
in.  and  let  you  know  she  had  lost,  somewhere  about  here'  a  pap<  -, 
with  a  little  beast  in  it. 

PBOSP.    A  little  beast  !     What's  the  little  beast  to  me? 

Mad.  D.  I'm  sure  1  don't  know — only  she  said  you  were  to  look  for 
it — and  told  me  to  ask  for  her  shawl. 

Prosp.  {giving  up  the  shawl).    Her  shawl?     (Jive  it  up  ?  that  com 
pletes  my  misery  !  {sinking down  <m  n  seat,  R.)  I'm  a  dead  man  ! 

Mad.  D.   Dead,  sir? 

Prosp.  {with  dignity).  Go,  woman,  go,  and  leave  me  to  die  alone 

Exit  Mad.  Dupont,  r.  e.  with  the  shawl,  expressing  astonishment. 

Pkosp.   If  I  stop  and  hunt  for  the   little  beast,  I  shan't  be  able  ti 
get  any  dinner.     If  I  don't  hunt,  and  go  into   the  dining-room,  she  II 
fulminate  me   with  a  reproachful  glance,  and  1  shan't  be    able  to  gei 
any  dinner,  for  shame  !     No  !  I  am  her  slave  !  her  negro  slave  !  1  am 
doomed  to  serve  all  her   little   caprices,  however    absurd    and    ridicu 
lous,  and  hunt    for   little   beasts!      To  your    work,  hound  !  to  you;- 
work  !     You  have   been  chained  and   muzzled,  and   now   you  are  t.r 
hunt   for  missis— so  ho,  sir!  so  ho!  hunt  for   missis'  seek    for  the 
little  beast  !  seek,  hound,  seek  !  {he  goes  up  hunting  and  sniffing  about 
and  disappears  for  a  momt  m  in  the  const  rvatory.  > 

a.nat.  {coming  down  as  Prosper  goes  up).  I  don't  hear  anyone 
now — they  are  all  at  dinner,  {looking  <>nt  cautiously,  R.  door^  I  can 
see  them  all— they  are  changing  plates.  (Prosper  reappears,  find 
comesdown  hunting,  first  t...  then  r.)  Ah  !  the  maid-servant  is  mak 
ing  signs  to  me.  {makes  signs  iii  return)  Yes— ves— now's  your  time  ' 
>he's  taking  up  a  plate  and  going.  Holloa  !  where  the  deuce  is  she 
going  1  Oh,  you  little  fool  it  isn't— goodness  gracious!  She  has 
given  my  letter  to  Mademoiselle  Zenobie — oil  ! 

Prosp.  {seatedon  h  nch  r.  ,  turning  suddenly).  What's  that  ?  (Ana- 
toTjE  hides  in  tin-  clump  ■>/  bushes)  I  heard  a  sort  of  scream.  Can  I 
have  trod  on  the  little  beast  ?  {he  looks  about  again  and  picks  "/>  the 
end  of  burnt  paper)  A  little  bit  of  pink  paper  burnt  at  the  edge. 
Why,  it's  a  portion  of  the  very  letter  ! — torn  ?— who  can  have  torn  i; 
— who '.' 

Enter  Baron,  from  dining-room,^ 

Ah— I  see— it's  clear  enough  !     It  must  have  been  the  husband  him 
self. 

Baron  (r.V   T   thought  I  heard  a  voice,  (perceiving  him)  Ah — it's 

VOU    ' 


ACT  m.J  A    SCBAP    OF   PAPER.  39 

Prosp.  (LA  i  beg  your  pardon — I'm  afraid  I'm  rather  late  {g<>in£ 
to  dining-room. ) 

Barox  (stopping  him).  Two  words,  if  you  please. 

Prosp.  {aside,  coming  back).  I  shall  have  to  fight  on  an  eiuptj 
stomach. 

Barox.  Do  you  still  entertain  the  same  views  you  did  this  morn- 
ing-? 

Prosp.   (asidt  I.   They  will  have  done  dinner  soon. 

Barox.   Do  you  still  entertain  the  same  views- 


Frosp.  Yes— no — that  is — (aside)  I  had  forgotten  all  about  that  I 
[aloud)  Well,  in  principle,  yes — in  practice,  no  ;  certainly  not — it 
fact.  Madame  de  la  Glaciere  displayed  so  much  opposition  to  my  pro 
jectS 

Barox.   She  had  her  reasons,  probably. 

Prosp.   I  don't  know  what  reasons. 

Barox  {quietly).  Her  unwillingness  probably  to  see  you  sacrificing 
an  old  attachment  to  a  new  fancy. 

Prosp.  {after  looking  at  him  steadily).  Indeed!  (((side)  Nothing 
like  making  the  plunge  at  once,  {with  n  change  of  man  ier)  I  see,  sir, 
that  vou  know  all. 

Baron.   All. 

Prosp.  Then  perhaps  you'll  permit  the  conversation  to  drop  until 
after  dinner,  (attempts  again  to  enter  dining-room — stopped  by  tlu 
Barox.) 

B.vrox.  I  beg  pardon,  sir — the  affair  is  too  serious  to  admit  of  any 
delay. 

Prosp.  Serious — serious  !  After  all,  there's  nothing  so  very  serious 
in  the  matter.  I  admit  that  I  entertained  a  very  strong  regard  for 
the  lady — that  there  was  a  sort  of  understanding  between  us,  an  I 
that  we  even  had  a  trifling  correspondence  ;  but  that  was  all — ami 
the  lady  has  no  longer  the  slightest  regard  for  me. 

Barox.   Her  affection  is  undiminished. 

Prosp.  I  beg  your  pardon — I  beg  your  pardon — I  give  you  my 
word  of  honor  that 

Barox.   She  has  confessed  it  to  me  herself. 

Prosp.   Confessed  it .' — confessed  what? 

Barox    Her  attachment  to  you. 

Prosp    She  confessed  that — to  you  V 

Barox.  To  me. 

Prosp.   (asidt  .  I'm  thunderstruck  ! 

Bakox.  She  has  told  me  all,  sir.  Your  desertion  of  her  upon  the 
most  unfounded  suspicion — your  long  absence  in  consequence — and 
spite  of  your  unkindness,  the  affection  she  still  bears  you 

Prosp.  She  told  you  that ! 

Barox.   She  told  me  that. 

Prosp.  (aside).  Well  I  must  say  she  might  have  chosen  another 
confidant,  (aloud)  I  understand  you,  sir  ;  and  you  have  sought  me  to 
demand  a  reparation  at  the  sword's  point. 

Barox.  Far  from  it — to  try  and  effect  a  reconciliation  between  you 

Prosp.  (stupefied).  What ! 

Barox.  And  to  take  you  by  the  hand,  (stretches  out  hi*  hand.) 

Prosp.  You  are  too  good,   (ai'ide)  Too  good,  a  vast  deal  1 

Barox.  Her  happiness  is  in  your  handa. 

Prosp.  Is  it  ? 

Barox.   Make  her  happy,  then. 

Prosi*.  (shaking  hands".  I  should  be  delighted  to  oblige  you 
but 


40  A    SCRAP   OF    PAPER,  [ACT  IH. 

Baron.    And  make  me  happy,  too. 

Prosp.  But,  my  dear  sir,  have  you  maturely  considered  what  jou 
are  proposing  to  me  ! 

Baron.  Do  you  think,  sir,  I  would  permil  von  to  refuse  a  lady  so 
closely  allied  to  me— after  proffering  her  the  most  ardent  attachment — ■ 
the  satisfaction  she  lias  a  tight  to  demand? 

PROSP.  Surely  .Madame  d»*  la  (Jlaciere  could  never  have  sent  you 
to 

BARON.  1  must  insist,  sir,  you  don't  mix  up  my  wife's  name  in 
this  business. 

PROSP.  Hut  how  the  deuce,  sir,  am  1  to  do  otherwise?  Oil,  1  have 
had  enough  of  this — you'll  drive  me  mad,  famished  as  1  am.  Do 
what  you  like — fight,  or  go  to  the 

BARON.    Not  another  word — time  and  place. 

Prosp.  {exasperated).  When  you  please  I 
Enter  Suzanne  and  Louise,  hastily,  from,  the  dining-room,  r. 

Suz.   (aside).   This  is  what  I  feared. 

Louise  {asirfi).  A  challenge  !  all  is  lost! 

Suz.  (throwing  h<  rselffo  twt  <  n  tin  m).  Ah,  Prosper  !  has  the  Baron's 
persuasion,  then,  [crosses  to  c. )  had  no  more  power  over  you  than  my 
tears  ? 

PROSP.   (.surprised).  Hey  !  what? 

Suz.   Would  you  wish  to  see  me  at  your  feet  ? 

Baron.   Never  would  I  suffer  such  a  humiliation  ! 

Prosp.   (aside).  What  the  deuce  does  all  this  mean  ? 

Stz.  But  when  I  swear,  Prosper,  that  1  never  deceived  you.  (lotr  to 
him)  Back  me  up  in  all  I  say.  {aloud)  It  was  only  a  misapprehension. 
(a. side)  Back  me  up. 

Prosp.  {bewildered).  But  I  don't  see 

Suz.  (low  to  him}.  Don't  he  stupid  !  (almiih  You  don't  see  that  you 
break  my  heart  ? 

Prosp.   Break  your  heart  ! 

St  z.  Yes,  my  loving  heart,  and  you  are  still  silent.  !  Speak,  sir, 
speak  ! 

BARON.   Now,  sir,  what  have  you  to  say? 

Prosp.  1  have  to  say — 1  have  to  say — (aside)  Oh,  I  have  her  now  I 
(aloud)  That  if  all  she  says  he  true 

Suz.  Can  you  doubt  me.  Prosper?  (apart  to  7dm)  That's  right,  go 
on — go  on  ! 

Prosp.  (aside).  That's  right,  is  it  1  Just  you  wait  a  bit,  (aloud) 
And  you  swear  that   you  have  never  been  faithless  to  me? 

Suz.   Oh,  never,  never  !  [apart  to  hint)  Uo  on — go  on  ! 

PROSP.    That  you  love  me  still  V 

Suz.   Love  you  !  oh  yes  ! 

Prosp.  Then,  madam,  I  own  that  I,  too,  love — adore  you  !  I  swear 
it  before  these  witnesses  of  our  mutual  affection. 

Stz.  (apart  tohim).   That  will  do  now  !     Quite  enough  ! 

Prosp.   And  I  am  ready  to  marry  you.  madam,  as  soon  as  you  will. 

Suz.    In  make  believe,  of  course,    (apart  t"  hint.) 

Prosp.  (aside).  Deuce  a  hit  !  in  downright  earnest  !  (aloud)  Come 
to  my  arms,  Suzanne  ! 

Srz.   (springing  bar/.).  You  go  too  far,  sir — you  go  too  far. 

Baron  (pushing  her  into  Prosper's  arms).  Nevermind  us,  Suz- 
anne ;  it's  all  in  the  family.     Embrace  him,  I  tell  you. 

Prosp.  (embracing  her).  Oh,  Suzanne  I 


ACT  HI.  ]  A    SCRAP    OF   PAPER.  41 

Suz.   Oh,  Prosper  !  {apart  to  him)  You  horrid  tra'itor  ! 
Prosp.   1  think  I've  caught  you  now. 
Suz.  (aside).  Don't  make  too  sure  of  that. 

Enter  Mademoiselle   Zenobie  and  Mathilde,  from  the  dining 
room — Brisemotjche — then  Baptiste  and  Pauline.  (During  tht 
following,  Servants  hand  coffee — Brisemouche  is  alone  in  front. 
holding  a  piece  of  paper  in  his  hand;  he  is  slightly  intoxicated.) 

Brise.  It  is  a  love  letter  !— a  love  letter  to  Zenobie  !  I  shouldn't 
have  believed  it,  if  I  hadn't  seen — with  my  own  eyes  seen — the  young 
woman  slip  it  under  her  plate,  (reading)  "  I  am  obliged  to  leave 
home  by  daylight,  dearest  love."  Now,  who  the  deuce  could  ever 
call  Zenobie  "dearest  love?"  (reading  again)  "  But  far  or  near,  my 
soul  will  follow  thine."  All  this  to  Zenobie  !  It  is  incredible  !  but 
here  it  is.  Ah,  here's  a  chance — if  I  could  but  get  rid  of  Zenobie — 
force  the  fellow  to  marry  her — what  a  piece  of  good  luck  it  would 
be.   (  folds  the  paper  in  two.) 

Baron  (coming  down  with  a  cup  of  coffee  in  his  hand).  Don't  you 
take  coffee  ?  (drops  down,  l.  c.) 

Brise.  (aside).  Ah — an  idea  !  (gives  paper  to  the  Baron)  Do  you 
know  that  handwriting  1 

Baron.  This?  (as  he  opens  the  paper,  Prosper  is  coming  down 
with  a  cup  of  coffee  in  his  hand,  and  observes  the  Baron  reading  the 
reverse  side  to  that  read  by  Brisemouche)  "  They  wanted  to  send  me 
away,  but  I  have  returned." 

Brise.   Nonsense — "  returned  " — he  said  he  was  obliged  to  go. 

Baron  (continuing  to  read).  "  They  say  I  must  continue  my 
studies." 

Brise.   Nonsense — "studies" — no,  no — "  dearest  love." 

Baron.   No — "  studies  "—it  is  written  in  pencil  ! 

Brise.  No — "  dearest  love" — in  ink.  (takes  letter  and  turns  over  to 
the  other  side)  There  — it  is  there !  (gives  hark  letter  t<>  the  Baron.) 

Prosp.  (coming  down  hastily).  The  letter!  (snatching  it  from  the 
Baron.) 

Baron  (still  laughing)    Come  let's  see  this  wonderful  letter. 

Prosp.  No,  no  ;  I  can't  allow  it. 

Brise.   But,  why  ? 

Prosp.  (quietly  finishing  Ids  cup  of  coffee).  Because  I  don't  want 
to  admit  everybody  into  my  confidence,  (gives  his  empty  cup  to  Brise- 
mouche to  hold.) 

Brise.   Then  you  wrote  that  letter  ? 

Prosp.   Well,  and  if  I  did  ? 

Brise.  What!  unworthy  friend,  you  have  taken  advantage  of 
being  under  my  roof,  to  make  love  to  Zenobie — delude  her  inno- 
cence  

Baron.  He  !  make  love  to  Zenobie  ? 

Brise  But,  of  course,  he  will  take  her  off  my  hands — I  mean  marry 
her? 

Baron  (giving  7iis  empty  cup  to  Brisemouche  to  hold).  What 
does  all  this  mean,  sir?  This  morning  you  make  love  to  Mathilde  — 
this  evening,  you  promise  to  marry  Suzanne — and  all  the  while  you 
are  making  love  to  Zenobie. 

Brise    Don't  you  call  Zenobie  "  Dearest  love  ?" 

Prosp.  Never  dreamed  of  such  a  thing  ! 

Brise.   But  the  proof  is  that  scrap  of  paper. 

Baron.    Ytjs — show  us  the  scran  of  paper — what  is  if? 


42  A   SCRAP   OF    I   Mil;  [ACT  m. 

PR08P.  As  you  say — a  mere  scran  of  paper,  (shoirs  if  behind  his 
bnrk  to  Suzanne.) 

Si/.,  (to  Loui&E,  alarmed).  It  is  the  letter  ! 

Louise  {alarmed).  The  letter: 

PROSP.  (coolly).  Hut  as  you  seem  to  attach  some  mystery  to  this 
Bcrap  of  paper,  I  request  Mademoiselle  Suzanne — my  wife— to  judge 
of  its  contents,  (holds  out  papt  /•  to  Suzanne.) 

Baron  (seizing  letter  to  th(  alarm  of  Prosper  and  Suzanne).  So 
be  it— Suzanne  shall  read  and  judge  ! 

Si  ■/..  It  is  unnecessary — quite.  1  know  what  it  contains,  (takes  the 
paper.) 

Baron.    You  know  ? 

Srz.   Yes — a  men-  bit  of  folly— a  joke. 

Bhise.  A  joke  !  a  joke  !  The  chance  of  getting  rid  of  Zenobie  is 
no  joke  ! 

Baron.  Beware,  Suzanne— your  life's  happiness  may  be  concerned. 
(crosses  to  Suzanne.) 

Suz.  Well,  even  if  it  be?  (gives  paper  to  Prosper,  k..  and  holds  a 
lighted  candle,  which  she  takes  from  a  table  cfrse  by  her)  Burn  it,  my 
good  friend. 

Baron.  Suzar  ie  ! 

Srz.  (holding  candle).  Burn — burn  ! 

Baron.  Ah  !  you're  a  happy  man  to  marry  such  a  woman  who 
trusts  you  so  implicitly. 

Prosp.  1  know  I  am.  (bums  the  letter  and  puts  tin  t<ij)<  r  on  one  oj 
the  coffee  <■  iips  held  by  Brisemouche — looking  at  tin  ashes  oj  letter 
Oh,  you  confounded  little  rascal  of  a  scrap  of  paper  !  what  a  peck  of 
troubles  you  have  put  me  in. 

Brise.  {holding  the  two  cups  of  coffet  and  taper).  I  take  my  oath  1 
saw  the  words  "  dearest  love." 

Zen.  (cowing  down,  i..).    What's  thai  you  are  saying? 

Srz.  My  dear  Mademoiselle  Zenobie,  I've  a  piece  of  pleasant  intel- 
ligence to  communicate.  We've  just  made  up  a  match  betweenMon- 
sicur  Anatole 

Zk.n.   (simpering).   Oh,  dear— spare  my  feelings  ! 

Srz.  And  my  little  cousin  Mathilde. 

Anat.  (springing  forward  from  the  bushes,  r.).  Oh!  what  joy  1 
(drops  down,  L.) 

Zen.  (((side).  The  little  wretch  was  there  all  the  time. 

Anat.  (kissing  the  hand  of  Mathilde).   I  am  so  happy. 

Prosp.  (to  Suzanne).  And  so  am  I. 

Srz.  (loir  to  him).  I  have  no  doubt  you  are.  Yon  have  given  your 
word  to  start  to  night  for  the  Cannibal  Islands. 

Prosp.   By  all  means— but  not  without  my  wife. 

Suz.   What  !  do  you  want  to  eat  me  up? 

Prosp.   With  love  ! 

Louise.   Suzanne — you  must  give  in,  you  know. 

Suz.  (smiling).  Well,  it  seems  fated  I  am  to  sacrilice  myself  for 
others. 

Prosp.  Y'es  ;  to  ensure  my  happiness. 

Louise.   Y'our  own  as  well. 

Prosp.  And  the  contentment  of  all  around,  1  trust. 

Scz.  (looking  at  the  ashes).  Anil  all  on  account  of  a  mere  scrap  oi 
paper ! 

wOI'isk.     Bakon.     Sizanne,     Prosper.     Zenobie.     Anatole. 

M  vrtirr.oR 
CURTAIN. 


Diamonds  and  Hearts 

A  Comedy  Drama  in  Three  Acts 

By  EFFIE  W.  MERRIMAN 
Price,  25  cents 

This  play  has  become  one  of  the  most  popular  in  America.  The 
good  plot,  the  strong  "heart"  interest,  and  the  abundant  comedy 
all  combine  to  make  a  most  excellent  drama.  "Bub"  Barnes  is  a 
fine  character  of  the  Josh  Whitcomb  type,  and  his  sister  is  a  worthy 
companion  "bit."  Sammy  is  an  excruciatingly  funny  little  darkey. 
The  other  characters  are  good.  Fine  opportunity  for  introducing 
specialties.  The  play  has  so  many  good  points  that  it  never  fails 
to  be  a  success. 

CAST  OF  CHARACTERS 

BERNICE  HALSTEAD,  a  young  lady  of  eighteen,  with  an  affec- 
tion of  the  heart,  a  love  for  fun  and  hatred  of  arithmetic 

AMY  HALSTEAD,  her  sister,  two  years  younger,  fond  of  frolic. , 

IXF.Z  GRAY,  a  voung  lady  visitor,  willing  to  share  in  the  fun 

MRS   HALSTEAD,  a  widow,  and  stepmother  of  the  Halstead  girls 
HANNAH  MARY  BARNES,  or  "Sis,"  a  maiden  lady  who  keeps 

house  for  her  brother  .... •• 

DWIGHT  BRADLEY,  a  fortune  hunter  and  Mrs.  Halstead  s  son 

hv  a   former  marriage 

*DR.  BURTON,  a  young  physician 

SA.MMY    the  darkev  bell-boy  in  the  Halstead  house 

ABRAHAM  BARNES,  or  "Bub,"  a  yankee  farmer,  still  unmar- 
ried at  fortv — a  diamond  in  the  rough 

ATTORNEY;   SHERIFF    

Time  of  playing,  two  hours. 
Two  interior  scenes.    Modern  costumes. 

SYNOPSIS  OF  INCIDENTS 

Act.  1.  Parlor  of  the  Halstead  home.  The  young  doctor.  The 
three  girls  plot  to  make  his  acquaintance.  An  affection  of  the  heart. 
"Easy  to  fool  a  young  doctor,"  but  not  so  easy  after  all.  The  step- 
mother and  her  son.  The  stolen  diamonds.  The  missing  will. 
Plot  to  win  Bernice.  "I  would  not  marry  Dwight  Bradley  for  all 
the  wealth  the  world  contains."    Driven  from  home. 

Act  2.  Kitchen  of  the  Barnes'  farm  house.  Bub  takes  off  his 
boots.  The  new  school  ma'am.  "Supper's  ready."  "This  is  our 
nephew  and  he's  a  doctor."  Recognition.  A  difficult  problem  in 
arithmetic.  The  doctor  to  the  rescue.  "I'm  just  the  happiest  girl 
In  the  world."  "I've  come  to  pop  the  question,  an'  why  don't  I 
do  it?"  Brother  and  sister.  "If  it's  a  heifer,  it's  teh  be  mine." 
The  sheriff.  Arrested  for  stealing  the  diamonds.  "Let  me  knock 
yer  durned  head  off."     The  jewels  found  in  Bernice's  trunk. 

Act  3.  Parlor  of  the  Halstead  home.  "That  was  a  lucky  stroke 
hiding  those  diamonds  in  her  trunk."  The  schemer's  plot  miscar- 
ries. Abe  and  Sammy  join  hands.  The  lawyer.  "Bully  for  her." 
Bradley  tries  to  escape.  "No,  ye  don't!"  Arrested.  "It  means, 
dear,  that  you  are  to  be  persecuted  no  more."  Wedding  presents, 
and  a  war  dance  around  them.  "It  is  no  trick  at  all  to  fool  a 
young  doctor." 

Address  Orders  to 

THE  DRAMATIC  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

CHICAGO.  ILLINOIS 


Uncle  Rube 

An  Original  Homestead  Play  in  Four  Acts 

By  CHARLES  TOWNSEND 
The  Finest  Rural  Drama  Ever  Published 


Price,  25  cents 


CHARACTERS 

RUBEN   RODNEY    (Uncle   Rube),    Justice  of  the   Peace.    School 

Trustee,  and  a  master  hand  at  "swappin'  hosses" Character  lead 

SIMON  SMARLEY,  a  smooth  and  cunning-  old  villain 

Character  heavy 

MARK,  his  son.  a  promising  young  rascal Straight  heavy 

GORDON  GRAY,  a  popular  young  artist Juvenile  lead 

UPSON  ASTERBILT,  an  up-to-date  New  York  dude 

Character  comedy 

IKE,   the  hired  man.     "I  want  ter  know!" Eccentric 

BUB  GREEN,  a  comical  young  rustic Low  comedy 

BILL  TAPPAN,  a  country  constable Comedy 

MILLICENT  LEE.   "the  prettv  school  teacher" Juvenile  lady 

MRS.  MARTHA  BUNN,  a  charming  widow Character  comedv 

TAGGS,  a  waif  from  New  York Soubrette 

Time— Mid  Autumn.  Place — Vermont. 

Time  of  playing— Two  hours  and  a  quarter. 

SYNOPSIS 
ACT  I.     The  Old  Homestead.     Uncle  Rube  arrives. 
ACT  II.     The  Constable's  office.     The  plot  to  ruin  Uncle  Rube. 
ACT  III.     Evening  at  the  old  farm.    Uncle  Rube  is  arrested. 
ACT  IV.     The  Constable's  office  again.     The  old  farmer  wins! 

This  play  was  written  by  one  of  the  most  popular  of  American 
dramatists,  whose  works  have  sold  by  the  hundreds  of  thousands. 
One  of  the  best  plays  of  its  class  ever  written.  Splendid  characters. 
Powerful  climaxes.  Bright  wit.  Merry  humor.  Very  easy  to  pro- 
duce. Requires  only  three  scenes.  No  shifts  of  scenery  during  any 
act.     Costumes  all  modern.     No  difficult  properties  required. 

THE  AUTHOR'S  OPINION) 

MR.  TOWNSEND  says  of  this  drama:  "I  consider  that  'Uncle 
Rube'  is  far  superior  to  any  play  depicting  country  life  that  I  have 
yet  written." 


This  is  the  play  for  everybody — amateurs  as  well  as  professionals. 
It  can  be  produced  on  any  stage,  and  pleases  all  classes,  from  the 
most  critical  city  audiences  to  those  of  the  smallest  country  towns. 
Printed  directly  from  the  author's  acting  copy,  with  all  the"  original 
stage  directions. 

Address  Orders  to 
THE  DRAMATIC  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

CHICAGO,  II  LINOIS 


Capt*  Racket 

A  Comedy  in  Three  Acts 

By  CHARLES  TOWNSEND 


Price,  25  cents 


This  play  by  Mr.  Townsend  is  probably  one  of  his  most  popular 
productions;  it  certainly  is  one  of  his  best.  It  is  full  of  action  from 
etart  to  finish.  Comic  situations  rapidly  follow  one  after  another, 
and  the  act  endings  are  especially  strong  and  lively.  Every  char- 
acter is  good  and  affords  abundant  opportunity  for  effective  work. 
Can  be  played  by  five  men  and  three  women,  if  desired.  The 
same  scene  is  used  for  all  the  acts,  and  it  is  an  easy  interior.  A 
most  excellent  play  for  repertoire  companies.  No  seeker  for  a 
good  play  can  afford  to  ignore  it. 

CHARACTERS 

CAPT.  ROBERT  RACKET,  one  of  the  National  Guard.    A  lawyer 

when  he  has  nothing  else  to  do,  and  a  liar  all  the  time 

Comedy  lead 

OBADIAH  DAWSON,  his  uncle,  from  Japan,  "where  they  make 
tea" Comedy  old  man 

TIMOTHY  TOLMAN,  his  friend,  who  married  for  money,  and  is 
sorry  for  it Juvenile  man 

MR.  DALROY,  his  father-in-law,  jolly  old  cove Eccentric 

HOBSON,  waiter  from  the  "Cafe  Gloriana,"  who  adds  to  the 
confusion    Utility 

CLARICE,  the  Captain's  pretty  wife,  out  for  a  lark,  and  up  to 
"anything  awful" Comedy  lead 

MRS.  TOLMAN,  a  lady  with  a  temper,  who  finds  her  Timothy  a 
vexation  of  spirit Old  woman 

KAT Y,  a  mischievous  maid Soubrette 

TOOTSY,  the  "Kid,"  Tim's  olive  branch Props. 

SYNOPSIS 

Act  I.  Place:  Tim's  country  home  on  the  Hudson  near  New 
York.  Time:  A  breezy  morning,  in  September.  The  Captain's 
fancy  takes  a  flight  and  trouble  begins. 

Act  II.  Place:  the  same.  Time:  the  next  morning.  How  one 
yarn  requires  another.  "The  greatest  liar  unhung."  Now  the 
trouble  increases  and  the  Captain  prepares  for  war. 

Act  III.  Place:  the  same.  Time:  Evening  of  the  same  day. 
More  misery.  A  general  muddle.  "Dance  or  you'll  die."  Cornered 
at  last.    The  Captain  owns  up.    All  serene. 

rime  of  playing:    Two  hours. 

Address  Orders  to 
THE  DRAMATIC  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

CHICAGO.  ILLINOIS 


Tompkin's  Hired  Man  £  ?£™aActs 

By  EFFIE  W.  MERRIMAN         PRICE,  25  CENTS 

This  is  a  strong  play.  No  finer  character  than  Dixey,  the  hired 
man,  has  ever  been  created  in  American  dramatic  literature.  He 
compels  alternate  laughter  and  tears,  and  possesses  such  quaint 
ways  and  so  much  of  the  milk  of  human  kindness,  as  to  make  him 
a  favorite  with  all  audiences.  The  other  male  characters  make 
good  contrasts:  Tompkins,  the  prosperous,  straightforward  farmer; 
Jerry,  the  country  bumpkin,  and  Remington,  the  manly  young 
American.  Mrs.  Tompkins  is  a  strong  old  woman  part;  Julia,  the 
(spoiled  daughter;  Louise,  the  leading  juvenile,  and  Ruth,  the  romp- 
ing soubrette,  are  all  worthy  of  the  best  talent.  This  is  a  fine  play 
of  American  life;  the  scene  of  the  three  acts  being  laid  in  the 
kitchen  of  Tompkin's  farm  house.  The  settings  are  quite  elaborate, 
but  easy  to  manage,  as  there  is  no  change  of  scene.  We  strongly 
recommend  "Tompkin's  Hired  Man"  as  a  sure  success. 

CHARACTERS 
Asa  Tompkins — A  prosperous  farmer  who  cannot  tolerate  deceit. 
Dixey — The  hired  man,  and  one  of  nature's  noblemen. 
John  Remington — A  manly  5'oung  man  in  love  with  Louise. 
Jerry — A  half-grown,  awkward  country  lad. 
Mrs.  Tompkins — A  woman  with  a  secret  that  embitters  her. 
Julia — A    spoiled    child,   the    only    daughter    born    to    Mr.    and   Mrs. 

Tompkins. 
Louise — The  daughter  whom  Mr.  Tompkins  believes  to  be  *»'*  own. 
Ruth — Mr.  Tompkin's  niece,  and  a  great  romp. 

Plays  about  two  hours. 
SYNOPSIS 

Act  1.  Sewing  carpet  rags.  "John  and  I  are  engaged."  "Well, 
you  can  disengage  yourself,  for  you'll  never  be  married."  "Mrs. 
Clark,  she's  took  worse."  Who  makes  the  cake?  Julia  declines  to 
sew  carpet  rags.  "It  would  ruin  my  hands  for  the  piano  or  my 
painting."  Dixey  to  the  rescue.  "You  take  the  rags  a  minute, 
child,  and  I'll  just  give  that  fire  a  boost."  Dixey's  story.  "It 
breaks  his  heart,  but  ha  gives  her  away,  an'  he  promises  never  teh 
let  her  know  as  how  he's  her  father."  Enter  Jerry.  "Howdy." 
John  gets  a  situation  in  the  city.  Farewell.  "It's  a  dandy  scheme, 
all  the  same.  We'll  have  our  party  in  spite  of  Aunt  Sarah."  "Oh, 
I'm  so  happy."     The  quartette.     Curtain. 

Act  2.  Chopping  mince  meat.  The  letter.  Louise  faints.  "How 
dare  you  read  a  paper  that  does  not  concern  you?"  "You  have 
robbed  me  of  my  father's  love."  The  mother's  story.  Dinner.  "I 
swan.  I  guess  I  set  this  table  with  a  pitchfork."  "Now,  Lambkin, 
tell  Dixey  all  'bout  it,  can't  yer?"  "It  looks  zif  they'd  got  teh  be  a 
change  here  purty  darned  quick,  an'  zif  I'm  the  feller  'lected  teh 
bring  it  'bout."  "None  o'  my  bizness,  I  know,  but — I  am  her 
father!"  "It's  love  the  leetle  one  wants,  not  money."  "If  I'd  been 
a  man.  I'd  never  given  my  leetle  gal  away."  "I'm  dead  sot  on  them 
two  prop'sitions."     Curtain. 

Act  3.  Dixey  builds  the  fire.  "Things  hain't  so  dangerous  when 
everybodys'  got  his  stummick  full."  The  telegram.  "It  means  that 
Louise  is  my  promised  wife."  "By  what  right  do  you  insinuate  that 
there  has  been  treachery  under  this  roof?"  "A  miserable,  dirty, 
little  waif,  picked  up  on  the  streets,  and  palmed  off  upon  my  father 
as  his  child!"  "Oh,  my  wife,  your  attitude  tells  a  story  that  breaks 
rny  heart."  "Yeh  druve  her  to  do  what  she  did,  an'  yeh  haint  got 
no  right  teh  blame  her  now."  "Friend  Tompkins.  H  third  man  has 
taken  our  leetie  pal  an'  we've  both  got  teh  larn  teh  git  along  without 
her.  We  kin  all  be  happy  in  spite  o'  them  two  sentimental  kids." 
Curtain.  Address  Orders  to 

THE  DRAMATIC  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

CHICAGO.  ILLINOIS 


Dumont's 
Minstrel  Joke  Book 


Price,  25  cents 


A  Collection  of  jokes  arranged  for  End-Men.  both  professional  and 
amateur.  Never  before  collected  and  published  in  a  clear  manner 
and  with  bright  dialogue  for  End-Men  and  Interlocutor.  They 
form  a  book  of  the  newest,  most  humorous  and  quaintest  matter 
ever  arranged.  Any  reader  may,  with  assured  success,  deliver  them 
to  anv  assemblages  before  whom  he  may  appear. 

Mr."  Dumont  himself  says:  "This  collection  of  jokes  and  dia- 
logues is  the  careful  gathering  of  years — and  only  the  best  and 
'sure  laugh'  producers  are  incorporated  in  this  book." 


PARTIAL  CONTENTS 

Arithmetic  of  Love,  "Ask  a  Policeman,"  All  about  Novels.  At  Nia- 
gara Falls,  "A.  P.  A."  and  Bricks,  Advantages  of  Education.  All 
Sorts.  Army  and  its  Soldiers.  Bad  Case  of  Lying,  Base  Ball,  Breach 
of  Promise.  Burglars,  Boston's  Correct  Language,  Bravery  in  Battle, 
Fishing,  Funny  Signs  and  Borrowed  Pants,  Fish  makes  Brains, 
Firing  off  the  Cannon,  Climatic  Changes,  Clancy  as  a  Diver, 
"Couldn't  find  a  Policeman."  Colonel  Pepper,  "Curiosities  for  Mu- 
seums," Conundrums.  Cruelty  to  Animals,  Country  and  Don't  Drink, 
Couldn't  take  the  Job,  Comic  Recitations,  Cork  Leg.  "Casabianca," 
"Dreams,"  Ducks  and  Indians.  Dutchman's  Bet.  "Daniel,"  Eating 
Dumplings,  Epitaphs.  Editing  a  Newspaper,  Eating  by  Weight,  Ed- 
ucated Horse,  The  Mule  Battery,  "Making  Both  Ends  Meet."  The 
Mind  Reader,  Missed  the  Hearse,  Mixed  Breed  of  Chickens,  Married 
into  a  mean  Family,  Making  a  Pair  of  Shoes,  Man's  Ribs  and  Angel 
Cake,  The  New  Poet,  Never  Happened,  On  the  Battlefield,  Off  to  the 
Seat  of  War,  Our  Brothers,  Old  Cider  Barrel,  Origin  of  Songs, 
Opinion  on  Man  and  Woman,  Gratitude,  Hotel  Regulations,  Hold 
your  Head  Up.  How  is  Business,  How  Different  Girls  Kiss.  Hash 
for  the  Navy,  "Has  not  Caught  Me  Yet,"  Irish  Monologue,  It  Runs 
in  the  Familv,  "If  a  River  were  between  all  Men  and  Women," 
Jumping  Frog,  Kissing,  Kiss  Sociable,  Keep  off  the  Grass,  Kissing 
in  the  Tunnel,  Lawyer  and  Doctor,  Lost  Umbrella,  Liquor  Assists 
Nature,  Learning  the  Bike,  Love  and  Matrimony,  Law  in  Alaska, 
Shoemaker's  Daughter,  Singing  at  the  Party,  Storm  at  Sea,  Spot- 
ted Dog,  Swallowed  an  Egg,  Second  Time  on  Earth.  Signs.  Sorry 
he  didn't  Take  it  Cold.  Progress.  Parson's  Sermon  on  Crap  Shoot- 
ing, Poultry  and  Fruit,  Power  of  Language.  Perhaps  I  Will  and 
Perhaps  I  Won't,  Peculiarities  of  Speech,  Pumpkin  Pie.  Patriotic 
Alphabet,  Queer  Advertisements.  Ragged  Jacket,  Raising  Grass- 
hoppers, Taught  His  Wife  a  Lesson,  Thought  it  was  a  Boat-race, 
The  Telephone,  Thief  with  a  Roman  Nose.  Taxes  on  Luxuries, 
Transfusion  of  Blood,  Took  the  Dead  Mans'  Dollar.  Two  Good  Liars. 
Three  Realistic  Dreams.  Takes  It  just  the  same,  "Twinkle,  Twinkle 


Ship   . 

the  Gun  had  gone  off,"  Writing  a  Novel. 

Address  Orders  to 

THE  DRAMATIC  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

CHICAGO,  ILLINOIS 


The  Spinsters'  Convention 

(The  Original 
Old  Maids'  Convention) 


Price,  25  cents 


An  evening's  entertainment  which  is  always  a  sure  hit  and 
a  money-maker.  Has  been  given  many  hundred  times  by 
schools,  societies  and  churches,  with  the  greatest  success.  An 
evening  of  refined  fun.  It  requires  from  twelve  to  twenty 
ladies  and  two  gentlemen,  although  ladies  may  take  the  two 
male  parts.  A  raised  platform  with  curtains  at  the  back  is 
all  thte  stage  requires,  but  a  fully  equipped  opera  stage  may 
be  utilized  and  to  great  advantage. 

Kidiculous  old  maid  costumes,  with  all  their  frills  and  fur- 
belows, their  cork-screw  curls,  mittens,  work  bags,  bird  cages, 
etc.,  are  the  proper  costumes.  Later  on  in  the  program  some 
pretty  young  women  in  modern  evening  dress  are  required. 
The  latter  should  each  be  able  to  give  a  number  of  a  mis- 
cellaneous program,  that  is,  be  able  to  sing,  play  some  instru- 
ment, dance,  whistle  or  recite  well. 

This  entertainment  utilizes  all  sorts  of  talent,  and  gives 
each  participant  a  good  part.  Large  societies  can  give  every 
member  something  to  do. 

SYNOPSIS 

Gathering  of  the  Members  of  the  Society— The  Roll-Call— The 
Greeting  Song — Minutes  of  the  last  meeting — Report  of  The  Treas- 
urer—Music: "Sack  Waltz"— A  paper  on  Woman's  Rights— Song: 
"No  One  to  Love.  None  to  Caress." — Reading  of  "Marriage  Statis- 
tics"— The  Advent  of  the  Mouse — Initiation  of  two  Candidates  into 
the  Society— The  Psalm  of  Marriage— Secretary's  Report  on  Eligible 
Men— A  Petition  to  Congress— Original  Poem  by  Betsv  Bobbett — 
Song:  "Why  Don't  the  Men  Propose?"— Report  of  The  Vigilance 
Committee — An  Appeal  to  the  Bachelors — Prof.  Make-over — The 
Rf>-^delscope.-Testimonials— The  Transformation  and  a  miscel- 
laneous program. 

Address  Orders  to 
THE  DRAMATIC  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

CHICAGO,  ILLINOIS 


OCT  2  01951* 


This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last 
date  stamped  below 

MAR  9    195r 


Southern  Branch 
of  the 

University  of  California 

Los  Angeles 

Form  L  1 

545* 
$3s 


IT'T"'!.  '    '   _  ...     ■■/■: 


_> 


